


Neutral Colors

by StoryCloud



Series: Neutral Cases [2]
Category: Undertale
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Continuation, Gen, Humans, Neutral Ending, Neutral Route, Violence, first person narritive, interchangeable timelines, not too graphic but notable, takes place after Neutral Ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-09-17 22:03:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9348422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StoryCloud/pseuds/StoryCloud
Summary: After Frisk escapes from the underground, and the preceding investigations into the Ebbot Missing Child Case, three adult humans (Two Police Officers and a Detective) now find themselves facing the same fate as the six souls who lost their lives. Things could go strangely, badly, or worse depending on the circumstance.





	1. Your Best Acquaintance

**Author's Note:**

> Chapters for this will come slower than the last story I'm afraid - circumstances I can't really get into. But I hope you guys will enjoy this continuation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each character (of the three that have fallen) will experience a different timeline, and depending on how this plays out there will be insights to different outcomes for each of them.

For a while, all you knew was the harsh sent of soil. Then all you felt was the ache - in your legs, your arms – thankfully no vital organs. You were fearful of moving in case a sharp pain or lack of response would confirm your suspicion. Your nose was pressed mercilessly against the floor. Something reeking of dead flowers and plant sap assaulted your senses.

Slowly, with shaky resolve, you turn your head. Congratulations. Your neck is not broken. Neither are your arms or legs.

The distance you fell was great and yet it went by in a second. Peering upward you find that there is a cavernous area surrounding you, circular and rocky. Old pillars extend upwards toward a broad, open hole above. Beyond that the winter sun beams blurrily down at you. Its light gives no warm but instead encompasses you in a sharp – and very rigid – circle of light.

This is surreal. You are familiar with the mountain at this point but there’s something stylistic about the shape of these rocks. The pillars especially – it was as if you’d suddenly been shipped into some European ruin overseas. How did it get here and when?

Beyond that is complete darkness. Beneath you lay a bed of very, very wilted flowers. Brown and – unlike most autumn leaves and such – damp and lank. No crispiness. The scent of rotting plants makes you feel off-put and uneasy. Your police uniform and jacket are covered in the residue.

You have no idea what the colour of these flowers could have been once, but you are glad that they were here – you could’ve died. In fact you expected the end the moment your foot failed to touch the ground above.

The idea that a child experienced this fills you with regret. They are safe now, you tell yourself. And you are here to make sure no one else – no other child – is ever harmed again by these people.

Checking your status is on order, to get yourself organised.

“POLICE LIEUTENANT”

LV: 3

HP – 40/40

AT – 5

DEF – 10

WEAPON: Police Baton and Cigarette Lighter

ARMOUR: Bullet-Proof Jacket

Gold: 0

...Strange. You didn’t know of any caves like this. If they were known, the Rangers would have mentioned them. You wander forward into the darkness, unconsciously flicking out your cigarette lighter to give you some illumination to this situation.

You find what looks like a _doorway_ of all things. How strange – the rocky cavern walls seem to mould slowly from bumpy, natural formation into a complete clean straight wall. You hold the lighter closer.

The wall is purple.

“Hee hee h –“

Behind you a quirky little voice began to laugh...only to cut short again. You turn, hair on the back of your neck standing up though you have no clear why.

And then you are sure you are either dead or dying, and that what you are experiencing is part of a last-minute hallucination.

What the _hell_.

A flower reminiscent of puppet-style morning cartoons for preschool children is smiling at you. Or it was. The moment you make eye-contact, its dimple grin falters and it stares at you like you’ve somehow intruded upon something. Disbelief.

“...” A frown. “What the heck?”

You have no answers for the flower. The flame of your lighter flickers strangely. As your brain burns with disbelief itself, the flower’s expression grows more and more aggravated. “This isn’t right. What the heck are you doing here? Who even _are_ you?!”

Pure habit makes you utter your rank and badge number. It does not return normality to the world.

“Urgh, this isn’t funny.” The Flower seems to be talking to itself, or someone else, for its gaze passes through you. That is, until, it snaps onto your face. It’s grinning, now, the corners of its lips twitching upward in a smile that doesn’t reach its eyes.

“Say, fella, you look lost. Most humans do.”

You knew a patronising tone anywhere, but you refrain from answering what could be a hallucination.

The use of the term ‘human’ reminds you of the recordings, and your interest throbs.

What happens next is so surreal it sends a chill throughout your body. The world around you goes stark; the meagre light pouring in from above is suddenly white and naked. You feel enclosed and yet at the same time an agoraphobic –like feeling of being in an immense space is thrust upon you.

**_Fu -_ **

The warmth in your chest, huddled away from the wintery air, is suddenly wrenched forward.

You _feel_ it go. A shape has formed in front of your and somehow you feel attached to it, like strings in your ribs are tugging.

The flower smiles as if this is all very normal and you are trying to resist the urge to struggle. Your feet are rooted firmly in place. What on earth. _What on earth._

“Huh. Boring soul you got there.” The flowers says, one ‘brow’ arching. You eyes focus on the shape but instead of seeing something glowing or shiny like one would usually think a soul would look like...you see a heart. A flat, plain heart, coloured a very simple _brown_.

What came next is – indescribable.

Vaguely, you can say the experience is ‘out of body’. But not quite, your body is here but you are also a few feet away from yourself, the more you think about it the more the edges of your vision blur until you have to stop. You have to stop questioning it or –

Think rationally –

It’s...similar to watching something. No, not watching, not quite it’s...like playing a video game. You are interacting. You are there, but also there’s s screen in front of you...

Have you been drugged? The flower’s smirk is lowly now and it makes no move to hide it. Are you even speaking to a living being? Is someone actually there, twisted by whatever mania has come upon you...?”

“Golly!” The chipper little voice says, “You don’t look so good! Here! How ‘bout some good old fashioned pellets? They’ll take the headache away!”

Chatter, chatter, you expect to turn your head and find candy or coins have spilled all over the floor at that sound. But instead a loop of spinning white dots surround you, the motion is dizzying. However insane it is, your hair stands up. This is a threat, these are clearly harmful, and whatever they are. You reach towards your jacket with subtle movement. You keep your other hand out and flex the fingers. As you expect the flower focuses on that, not your other hand slipping into your jacket pocket.

“You know, you’re probably the tallest human to ever fall down here.” The Flower’s eyes narrow a bit, “Wonder why that is?”

You decide you do not like the trilling voice it has.

Those...things it has are far too noisy. When they start moving towards you a loud and very noticeable pulse resonates through the air. You whip out your baton and deflect the ones that come flying towards you.

The impact sends startling a twang up your arm.

The pellets all but fly away from you. The Flower gives a start, teeth flashing in the stark light as it gapes at you. “Hey! Cut it out you moron, that’s way too –“

You act quickly.

You tell the flower to stop its attempts. Whatever they are. It looks like you like you’re an idiot and yes, many criminals have looked at you like that. You only say it on the off-chance they may actually listen. “And you mentally ill? Don’t you know what’s going on?”

You’re considering the former.

You’re clueless of the latter.

Humour whatever vision this is. Humans try to filter the impossible by acting like it is normal. Or trying to.

The Flower is smirking again. It reeks of smugness and you lower your baton. “Oh-ho. So it wasn’t just the kid being brain dead. You humans really don’t know anything, huh?”

The grin is getting broader. It’s starting to contort its face.

You ask why it keeps saying ‘human’. The Flower stares at you again, like _you_ were the inanimate being suddenly sprouting a face. Then the smirk returns, so wide it stretches its cheeks out of proportion. Your grip on the baton grows oh-so tighter.

“That reality filter of yours won’t last long, Chum.” Its eyes narrow, a crisp edge to its voice. You can feel the air of someone holding some kind of information over your head, dangling it like a chicken leg on a string. You try not to fall for it. “You don’t think I’m real? Heh. That’ll actually make it easier. I don’t have even to kill you myself.”

You ask what it means.

You ask a talking flower, seriously, what it means.

There’s a pause. The plant is so still that for a second you wonder if this horrifically vivid illusion is over – but then it giggles. A shrill, chortling thing that makes your stomach turn in disdain.

“Maybe this is a game of theirs.” The flower says, with far more malice. “Maybe they’re just trying to spice things up. What, did they shove you in here or something?”

They...

You ask if they mean the child.

The Flower looks at you in aggravation again. “They got away, didn’t they? This isn’t a reset.” You have no idea what it means, but it seems to have...realised something. You document everything you notice in the back of your head. It leans back. “Who the heck do they think they are?”

Your lips part, you are about to ask a question – but the Flower’s swinging moods have ventured into far more high-strung territories, “You know what? Fine. Go ahead. Go see what’s waiting, Old Chum. I’ll keep waiting.”

And it...disappears into the soil. Not even a little hole is left behind. Just you, your lighter, and the doorway lying almost expectantly nearby.

...

You wander through the doorway. Darkness encases you, engulfing your surroundings. The purple floor seems to stretch on forever.

This was built, not formed. And despite the darkness, and a few pile of (neatly collected) leaves, all the corners are clean and not a smear of dirt lies in sight. Someone is maintaining all this.

You stop.

The silence pressing in on you is being interrupted.

Patter, patter, patter. Someone is coming this way. You go still. Your hands grips the lighter ever tighter.

Then it becomes clear that the footsteps are not...usual. It’s more of a...slower rhythm. You imagine someone hopping.

Something orange leans through the doorway at the end of the hall.

Your mind leaps to a jack-o-lantern. You see a black smile, empty eyes, a being that is just a face plastered on a shape.

Even a police officer’s will can be shaken. You step back. You reel. You aren’t thinking, this can’t be real, because fear and confusion has cemented your thoughts. The creature draws near, bobbing up and down with a terrible slowness.

Your shoes grind into the floor. You hold out your lighter in hopes that it will stop.

But no. _Vegatoid attacks._

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Not Your Pal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You should really do something about that leg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having to go slower - got some things going on, will continue as soon as I can. Thanks for your patience, hope you enjoy. This takes place on one of the...less well-done routes.  
> Each character (of the three that have fallen will experience a different timeline, and depending on how this plays out there will be insights to different outcomes for each of them.

A sharp, gritted cry tears from your windpipe as feeling spills back into your limbs. Particularly, your left leg – sharp lines of pain are dancing up the tendons and an ominous ache is plaguing the bone. You’re no doctor but anyone with brains worth a grain could tell that it’s broken in more than a few places.

You shift your body. Your coat is soaked through with dirt. Compost-like remains of plants or something akin to that lay beneath you – nowhere near soft enough to shield you from the impact of your fall. Another burning pain streaks up the back of your leg, but it’s too late to stop. You drag yourself upright.

The reason your left fingers are aching becomes clear – your cell phone is still gripped vice-like in your hand. The screen is cracked, glass has fallen away. Its half-bent and obviously, it’s not going to be helping you any time soon. With a hiss of pain, you pocket it anyway.

Deduct the situation.

You are in the dark. Cool air, a small breeze. Hollow noise. Are you still outside?

Then it returns to you – the memory of your oh-so careless plummet.

A curse word rings from your throat, loud and clear despite the horrible stiffness in the rest of your body.

No phone, at the bottom of a hole. That did _not_ have water at the bottom. How had the kid survived?

Your notebook is slightly bent but dry when you tug it out of your pocket. You situation seems dire, so you round up what you know in your head. Stone interior. Rocks, dying plant-like. Pitch-black and yet...yet you can read your notes.

You look up.

The dim light seems to be emitting from above, and yet you cannot seem to make out the top of the cavern. You hear water dripping idly nearby.

This was wacked.

Your status was pretty bleak. Judging by the throbbing, your leg was swelling up. Arms in good condition. No vital organs, but infection could be brutal. You needed to get moving and fast.

Shoving the notebook under an arm, you stoop down and began padding your hands along the barely-lit cave ground. You needed to find something, something to help you –

Soggy, wet wood touched your fingertips and you seized it. A long, crooked branch. Maybe blown in by the wind? Things like trees didn’t _grow_ underground.

“DETECTIVE.”

LV: 2

HP – 30/30

AT – 7

DEF – 5

WEAPON: Crooked Branch and Brass Knuckles

ARMOUR: Beige Trench coat

Gold: 3

All right, let’s check out this hell-hole. Dank, dark places are just the kind of set-up for the twisted. It was almost comical. Leaning on a soggy branch two-thirds your height and that would probably snap at a terrible moment.

You walk. The light behind you recedes. You come to a smaller space, more enclosed. But it isn’t tunnel-like, as you expected.

Once glance behind you.

Something moves - a blur of yellow and green. Your eyes dart about, body stiff even as your leg thrums with pain. What was that? You are not stupid enough to call out and ask. So hobbling on is all you can do.

It keeps happening. Blurs, faint colours, always in the corner of your eye. At first you wave it off as the dark playing tricks on your eyes.

Prodding the ground tells you that it’s flat. Immaculately so. This was insane – had someone been in here, _building?_ Levelling out the ground? You jot it all down in shorthand, pausing each time your leg cramps too viciously.

Then the whispers start. You are being watched.

Pause. You fluff up your collar so it hides your face. With your brass knuckles, always pocketed but barely used, you scrap the top of your branch-crutch so that it’s sharpened like a spear. The whispers grow fainter, then, like the users have recoiled. Well then. That’s teach ‘em.

The reason you aren’t on alert is probably because part of you thinks they’re simply air in the cracks. They certainly don’t sound like people.

The lighting gets better, though it seems to come from the walls themselves. There’s no lights, no torches, candles, nothing. How was this place emitting light?

Several large bundle of red leaves lay rotting in corners. Leaves from where? The wind couldn’t blow them in _this_ far.

Try as you may you cannot suss out a reasonable explanation. You keep going.

And then – there’s a sign.

A wooden sign planted on a wall beside what’s clearly a door. Panels lay embedded in a stone ground. The strangeness of it nearly sends you hobbling back the way you came.

There’s something...strangely familiar about this. Not personally. Your mind goes to museum exhibits, Egyptian tombs. The neat slabs and ...levers.

There’s a lever.

All right. You’d play along. You tug the lever down and absolutely nothing happens. God damn it all. Shifting your weight, you kneel down to inspect the plates on the ground. Your hand hovers over the unfamiliar material and –

It moves inward. Like a button. It’s so ludicrous. But you know what this is – some kind of puzzle, like they have with overly romanticized archaeologist movies. You just needed to use logic –

Logic, you snicker. None of this is logical.

It takes you what feels like hours to get the pattern right. The pain has gone down – or perhaps you’re just getting use to it. The cold, too. When you finally find the right pattern, the door opens with a loud, crinkly slide.

You heard water rushing and take out your notes again. Water. Good, you were getting somewhere. But you did not find a river or a cave pool like you expected – you found a well-formed interior, a hall if you will – with rigid canal-like streams of clear blue water.

Bridges.

You note down the arrows painted messily in yellow on the wall. Yellow paint has also been splashed over the signs by the path. You rub it off and find some very basic instructions. Pull the lever, basically. A child could follow them. The letters are bold and obvious too.

That disturbs you somehow. You continue on.

The clunk of your now uneven footsteps resonates through what appear to be Ruins. It’s like you’ve stepped into some other place, somewhere foreign. Even the smells seem strange. Some gang alone couldn’t have built all this – but then who? When?

Those boys at the lab would have a field day, with the higher-ups at the city.

It’s empty.

And quiet.

You turn a corner and stop short. There’s another bridge. But instead of wood or stone or plates you see...spikes. Alternating spikes. Gleaming metal shifting back and forth. You lick your lips, wondering if your fall has messed with you somehow.

Where you dealing with some outlandish sicko?

You step forward. There’s no way, no way in actual hell, that you’ll be quick enough to solve it on this leg. Experimentally, you jab at one of the flat plates and –

The spike recedes. You pause, then cautiously wave your branch over them. They recede, like magnets repulsed by the wrong side.

Was it just a fib, then? A bluff?

A hard step and you’re on the bridge. The spikes part and flatten underfoot. You almost felt insulted by how easy it was.

This was ridiculous.

Hobbling to the end of the bridge, you’ll find more corridors, more empty spaces. Instructions on the wall swabbed over with paint.

Clunk. Clunk.

You note down your deduction – clearly the person who handled the paint isn’t the same one(or several ones) that maintained this place. It had been done hastily. Maybe...

Bold, plain writing that a child could understand. You stop, a tree looming over you in a small, square patch. Garden-like, with a bundle of red leaves at its feet.

Signs dotted like breadcrumbs. A puzzle that was...child proof. Hastily covered evidence. Because the plan went wrong.

The kid escaped, you think. It’s like these people were worried someone would come sniffing around. They hadn’t had time to do a good job, now had they?

“...heya.”

Ice sears up your spine. Heck, it almost quells the burning in your foot.

Your eyes trail from your toe along the purple floor. Past the tree.

A very, very small figure is hovering in the shadows some meters away. Behind them you see the half-hidden beginnings of flower-beds. And a door.

There’s an honest-to-god house standing in front of you, postcard worthy. A tiny figure stands to the left.

And...something glimmers on the right. You only see if for a second – then it is gone.

The figure drags your attention back in, and you become aware of the sweat beading on your forehead, and the tiredness the limping has brought on.

At first glance you think it’s another kid, they’re that small. But the proportions are off. Way off. It’s short but broad. Some kind of – little person?

And then you recognise the voice. And then you see the blue hood jacket.

For a moment you simply stare. Then you straighten up. “...My name is...”

Your voice is quiet to begin with, but gains momentum. “I am a Detective.” You practically bite down on your rank and your station’s name. The Blue Hood Man says nothing through it. Your anger bubbles at the quiet. “I’m investigation the abduction of a child.”

Pretences are dropped, and your nose scrunches up. “Judging by your voice, you’re the guy on the phone.”

“kid lose their cell?” The guy drawls, in that same fake heartiness he’d used in his message. It makes you want to punch him no matter how small he is. “would explain a lot. No answers.”

“You won’t get any from them.” You say, flat and sharp. “Ever again. You won’t ever so much as glance at that kid again in your life.”

Silence.

“...abduction’s a pretty heavy word, pal. You got it turned around.” The tone is a little tighter this time. You can see his hands are in his pockets. You grow suspicious. “they came here. _Twig-ger-_ finger and all. Heh.”

A stare is all he gets in return. “Let’s say I believe you, pal. Let’s say for a second I buy your bull. If you randomly came across a small child you don’t know, why not call someone? Child services, police? No. Of course you didn’t, because it’s not the first time you’ve passed that up. From what I’ve heard there were _six_ other times.”

Another pause. Heavier.

He doesn’t say anything else so you go on, straightening up and ignoring your leg. “You’re under the arrest for the abduction and attempted murder of a child.”

“i didn’t go near them. Didn’t hurt a hair on their head.” The guy said. “...heh. kinda pointless.”

“Your brother, then.”

He stiffens.

“...hate to burst this bubble you got surrounding the kid, pal. But they’re no angel. Did they mention what they did down here, besides touring?”

Your grip on your makeshift crutch grows violent. “Self-defense.”

“didn’t look like it to me. My brother was harmless.”

“your brother was a grown man who attacked a child.”

“a kid who’d already killed two monsters.”

An argument dies in your thought. Gagged by your own breath. “....What? What do you mean, ‘monster?’ Is that some kind of _gang_ name?”

The guy shifts on the spot, as if surprised. You spit out the sweat falling onto your lips, and it only adds to the disdain in your posture.

“You can’t explain it away. How can a four-year old know what death is?! That kid was barely bigger than a _baby!”_

The statement rings through the stone hallways. The guy is quiet for a long time.

That blasted faux cheeriness is finally replaced by something else. “...four?”

“Four.” You repeat flatly. “Not even started preschool.”

You hate the continued silence. Then the guy sighs. “...you’re telling me...they didn’t get it? Anything that was going on?”

“No.” You say, without pity. “Nothing. They only gave us bits and pieces that they didn’t understand. But they brought the evidence back, buddy. A whole lot of it.”

“...hehheheh...”

The chill returns to you, alongside a horrified anger. The guy, still in the shadows, tilts his head. “man. guess that’s why you guys didn’t know it was _Monsters_ they ran into.”

And he steps forward.

Your drop your crutch.

H U M A N

D O N ‘ T  Y O U K  N O W  H O W T O  G R E E T  A  N E W  P A L?

S H A K E  M Y  H A N D


	3. Twelve Hundred Percent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some borrowed experience never hurt anyone.  
> Or, this place seems far too empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Waits getting longer; I managed to get this done. The Sergeant is the third and last person to fall. This takes place after a near-genocide timeline.  
> (Again, Each character (of the three that have fallen will experience a different timeline, and depending on how this plays out there will be insights to different outcomes for each of them.)

It is dark.

It is an unfathomably, terrible, engulfing dark. And for a good few minutes, you think are dead. The lack of sound seems to create a white noise that presses against your less-than small ears, and suddenly you are aware of every little sensation on your skin. Your eyes are open – you’re sure as heck of that, straining to the bulging point, and yet you see nothing.

The idea that this is death, and therefore your well – reality – almost sends you into a panic that your nerves have been building up to over the past few weeks.

Then an expectant bark cuts through the silence. Water sloshes somewhere at your feet as your Police Dog comes bounding towards you.

Breathing is almost foreign to you by then. Your brain kick-starts. Find your flashlight, your –

Hands pawing at your jacket and scarf, you find what you’re looking for. The...area lights up, but only around a simple conical-like beam. Your flashlight directs it forward.

Stone.

A pillar?

You squint, willing your eyes to re-adjust. A cold air is drifting by your ears and cheek. Are you still in the forest? Somewhere on the mountain?

...You are a complete _moron._

The dog is standing a few yards away. You don’t like how the light reflects in its big brown pupils, but you’re happy to see him either way. His tail waggles, again, in an expecting manner. You stoop down; fingers numb with the cold, and snag the leash.

The weight of the metallic object pressing between your shirt, jacket and chest reminds you oh-so-quietly of your mission.

Your breath bounces back to you off the damp, trickling walls. Sparse growths of what look like...yellow flowers are snaking up the rock.

The dog is sniffing vehemently at them, only to whine and begin tugging at you. Jelly-legged and still half-dazed, you let him. Your throat is dry. Gradual wakefulness, never a blessing – your thirst and hunger has come back to you like a duo of punches.

How long have you been out?

The darkness is still oppressive, and your small circle of light extending forwards does little to quell the strange unease prickling within.

You walk. Leaves, rock and tangles flowers squelch loudly beneath you. Don’t panic, you tell yourself. Your dog is more relaxed than you, peering over its shoulder with glass eyes before determinately continuing its sniff-out.

What do you know?

“SERGEANT.’

LV: 1

HP – 20/20

AT – 50

DEF – 10

WEAPON: Flashlight and Real Gun

ARMOUR: Winter Coat and Police Dog

Gold: 0

It is true; you are not as experienced as your colleagues. Especially the ones that went missing up the mountain. But you are not unarmed. You can survive this. It’s not like you evaporated after all.

Continuing to try and survey your surroundings proves...difficult. Your flashlight, despite having good new batteries, appears to be getting dimmer. You can only make out more rock and fauna, piles of autumn leaves scattered about...has someone been sweeping them up? Are you near – people?

You walk for what feels like an eternity. No One is there. Not a soul. The dog pauses suddenly, raising his read to peer inquisitively forward -

_CLANG._

You almost leap out of your skin but no – it’s nothing dangerous. It’s a bridge. A metal bridge over some very filthy looking water...clearly it isn’t recently built. It’s gone into total disarray. You lean over the side. No hand-railings.

Not that it’s a particularly fast or deep-looking river. The water is clogged up with more dead plants, wayward leaves, and other things you _really_ don’t want to find out about.

_Clangclangclanglcang –_

You tug gently but firmly on the dog’s leash. It’s creating a racket simply by wandering along the bridge.

But why freak out? No one is here. No one. Breathe.

The dog leads the way again, trotting off the other side of the bridge. You shine your flashlight left and right. More rock. Your nerves settle a little as frustration takes the place of unease, and you sigh.

It positively _rings._

“...!”

A branch has almost back-handed you. You noticed it last minute and now you are half-leant back, spine straining as the dog nudges its nose against its trunk. The tree is devoid of life, but tall and mangled. Alone. You frown and edge around it.

Fainter. Fainter. Your flashlight really isn’t on your side.

You turn it forward again, lips parting in a disbelieving expression.

_“Ruff!”_

Police Dog gives out a single bark. The small spot of light graces over something that is _big_ , bulky and close. Windows. A door, shutters - there’s a _house_ ahead of you.

Relief sinks into your bones. Is it some kind of forest cottage? A little on the big side...

Your stumble forward. Police Dog is a few yards ahead, pulling on the leash. “...Hello?” You call.

The noise your voice makes is _far_ too loud for your liking. Your heartbeat begins to pick up again as you wait for the edge of the echo to end. “...” All right. Closer then.

But just as you begin to move through what appears to be a blanket of rotting leaves, you heard the door creak open. Light, blazingly yellow light, pours in a perfect line from the gap.

The dog whines apprehensively.

A rather large, but not overly plump, figure. Big white gloves and an old-fashioned, foot-length purple dress.

You act almost without thinking.

_“Police!”_

The object in your jacket is calling to you, almost. The pull reminds you of your trek up the Mountain, it reminds you of the whistling sound, it reminds you that...that...what are you forgetting?

The hand on the side of the door, large and white, pauses. “I am afraid you have the wrong name – who is there?”

It’s a woman’s voice. Oddly pronounced. Not at all young. You wonder...is it...?

Could it be the woman who led the child away? Tucked in the woods like the wicked witch in the Hansel and Gretel story?

“Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to...” You tug the dog back and it scampers behind your legs. “Please come out where you can be seen and identify yourself.”

“Ah,” It sounds like she’s confused – but opting to humour you. You don’t know how you feel about this...something is wrong about this situation. “All right then. I am Toriel. Until recently, I was the...caretaker of the Ruins.”

_Riel._

You swear so loudly inside your head it rings. Clasping the flashlight tighter, you watch as she steps out of the door. Her figure is far – taller than you expected, in fact unusually so.

It’s too dark to see her face. But you see her frame seize up suddenly and its clear she’d alarmed by your appearance again – perhaps she didn’t get the best look before.

Maybe she’s seen your police coat. A grim triumph bubbles inside you.

“Oh my. I did not realise...”

Her large arms rise and disappear into the shadows by her face. She steps into the light.

Finally, you think. Until -

_Whatthehellwhatthehellwhathehell -_

It has to be a mask, you think, as shock stings your bones. But the mask pulls itself into a new expression and your face blanches to a colour that rivals it in paleness. Police Dog barks again.

It – it looks like – a

There is a goat staring at you in alarm. A big white goat standing on two legs. It had eyelashes.

Ha. Ha.

The image tilts ninety degrees. You have fallen full tilt towards the floor but your leg lashes out to catch you, jarring you back upright so fast it sends a jolt through your veins. Your brain cells are scrambling to rationalise this. You are dreaming. You’ve done insane. You hit your head and are currently higher than a kite on hospital prescribed drugs. Or you’ve finally lost your mind to stress.

“Are you injured?” The creature asks, hesitantly. “You seem unwell. I understand that everything is rather in a bad state at the moment. I did not expect anyone to be...”

You don’t realise you’ve been backing away until your back hits the trunk of the tree behind you. “Wh...what are you?” You can barely get the words out. Your lungs, it seems, have declared mutiny.

The creature stares at you as if _you’re_ the one who is peculiar. “Wh... _what_ are you?” You gasp out again.

Bewilderment makes the creatures brow fall a tad. “...I am a Boss Monster, if you mean the category of creature. I mentioned before that my name is Toriel. Are you quite all right?” A soft – good god – soft look passes over its – her? – face. You can’t.

This can’t be real, it’s not real.

_Breathe need you breathe you idiot, stop._

The only certainty through the crazed state you’ve been thrown into is the cold weight against your chest. You do it...without thinking. It almost happens on its own, like someone’s jabbed a button on your brain cells to make your arm move.

Your hand reaches into your jacket, under your shirt, your own fingers feel like ice as they curl around the gun.

_“Arf!”_

You snap out of it, like a cold bucket of water has fallen over you. In fact, you are covered in a cold sweat. Is this an illness? Is this fever-induced? Your Police Dog stands between you and the creature. She steps forward and you see her frown, alongside the horns, the floppy goat-like ears. The strange symbol on the robe...

It’s not a mask, it’s not a mask.

You whip out the gun. Dim light glints off the metal; one hand holds the flashlight, one holds the weapon. “Freeze!”

All you get for your efforts is a bewildered frown. Clearly she is unhappy with your behaviour, but slowly it moulds back into concern. You can’t wrap your head around it. This. Any of it. “Do not be afraid. I am a friend; no harm shall come to you in my company.”

“...” Your face is ice cold, it feels like it’s been frozen over. Stories bubble up in your head, of monsters and creatures, every urban ditty that you’ve ever heard. “...Did you take the kid?”

Her face lights up in a confused kind of recognition, and you know it’s her. “Take? I’m afraid you’ve mistaken – they fell down here. I simply helped them.” Her face falls a little, then. “Please do not misunderstand my intentions.”

“Your... intentions don’t matter.” The way your words wobble take away all the disgust and horror. You swallow. You’re police, for Pete’s sake - and you’re going to pieces.  “The kid was missing for nearly a w-week. Why didn’t you alert the authorities?”

Authorities, your subconscious cackles. Authorities! You’re talking to a monster!

“...Please. Come in.” Her expression has changed. It’s stony. Vacant. Like a jailer, or a judge. Distant. It’s like she’s looking right through you. “It is not safe for you out here...not since...”

She does to finish. “...So you’re saying you aren’t with the people who attacked the –“

“Please.” Her gaze locks onto you again, sterner. You bristle a bit. “There are others who would not take kindly to seeing you.”

_Kid said she wanted to ‘save’ them._

“...I got that.” Your hand is shaking. You almost forget which one is holding the gun.

You happen to glance behind her. There’s no reason that you did – no rustle, no noise, no movement. Nothing to catch your attention. Not even a twinge of gut instinct, you just _see_ it.

Police Dog lunges, bounding fast into the shadows. The woman – creature – monster looks surprised by it, but not as much as she did when she saw you – one wayward thought wonders why she’d be familiar with _dogs_ of all things.

White and empty spaces. A skull lies in the dark, staring at you from past her elbow. You feel the blood drain from your face. Its ghostly, just hovering there, your gun totes almost against your will –

A bright light fills the area, lighting up what clearly isn’t an outside forest.

You see the flash more than you hear the noise. You don’t hit the woman.

You recall falling from a jungle gym in your childhood. Your back struck the ground first, and your lungs closed up. It felt as though your insides had imploded. That same clench appeared just then, and suddenly you’re propelled violently backwards.

Cold is gripping your skin as you hit the tree and you feel so M Et hing –

_Shatter._


	4. Does This Count As Too Spooky For You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's no harm in playing along. You don't exactly have a choice at this point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo, cutting it close there. Again, each character goes through their own neutral route timeline. In this one, the Lieutenant (first fallen human, finder of Frisk) appears in a better circumstance one. Sorry if they are mistakes anywhere -I'm pressed for time but I'll get back to a better read-over soon.

The strange state of being you have been thrust into amplified. You feel cornered, anchored in place, like some kind of tether has latched itself around your torso like a harness to keep you in place. The creature comes at you, mouth opening and closing, slit-like eyes bright and bubbling. Like you’re playing a game.

You lift your baton as something comes flying at you. You don’t see it but you hear it. A warped, distorted whittle-like sound. Almost cartoony. You feel the air move, to, parting to make way for the thing that you’re certain is some kind of attack.

_Blocked!_

Your baton remains effective as ever and you feel the force of the invisible blow strum through your upper arm.

Stop, you yell, your voice bouncing back at you off the strange purple walls. Will this thing that’s apparently only a face even understand you?

Apparently not. Plants don’t talk, dummy. The creature goes for you again. Another block and you manage a side-step, forcing yourself to fight this...weird sensation plaguing your posture. There’s an earthy sent emitting from the creature, like freshly cut vegetables.

The creature cackles softly.

Enough.

Just a warning hit. You’ll barely grace it, you reason – perhaps you’ll just swipe at it and drive it off without touching it, like a bird or a badger. Maybe if you display the fact that you aren’t playing, it’ll clear off.

_BLAM._

_Blocked!_

Your police baton remains sturdy and undamaged. Something in your head whispers that it’s your turn, do it now. You hop forward and take a swipe, keeping yourself restrained enough so that the edge of the baton will _just_ miss it.

_Swi-pe._

...It...doesn’t leave. Or flinch. You miss it but was it really just going to _stand_ there and take the hit? You blink haphazardly at the being, feeling disconcerted.

You’re imposing logic onto a flying carrot, your unusually talkative subconscious mutters. Perhaps it’s the dark or the quiet that’s making your mind sound ten times louder –

Attention and attentiveness are very alliterative virtues. You lost them for a second and the creature strikes you.

Its feels as though your arm, though bundled up in several winter-proof layers, has been whipped point-blank on the skin. Yet you swallow your yelp, staggering backwards. You’ve had worse, but you’d expected a _different_ kind of pain.

Then it says something. Good god, its voice makes you wince. It sounds wrong on your ears.

“eAt yOur gReEnS...”

...Excuse you?

You reply that you eat your greens. Blearily. Your senses feel far too sharp and you wonder if it’s the side-effect of whatever hallucinogenic you’ve accidently ingested.

Another swipe to try and chase it off – it fails. You begin doubting your course of action. The vegetable-like creature opens its gaping maw, giving that chortling noise again, and you prepare yourself for another block –

“THAT IS NOT THE CORRECT WAY TO SAY HELLO!”

The voice is loud. It’s completely impossible to miss or misinterpreted. Its tone is off and the syllables seem clipped, like a more organic version of a computer program reading out some text.

And it’s _completely_ recognisable.

A figure slides into your field of view. The orange creature peers at them, grin very much in place, but it seems to contemplate them. The figure is tall, party taller than you, with a large torso and thin limbs. In the dark you see stabs of red and white and when your eyes find its face, a long-buried primitive instinct winces.

Pale and tall. A skull.

There is a skeleton standing before you, watching the vegetable being with narrow, annoyed-teacher like eyes. Eyes that are just little specks of black. It’s ludicrous. It’s cartoony.

You cannot digest it. 

“AS JUNOIR CARETAKER OF THE RUINS IT IS MY DUTY TO INFORM YOU THAT YOU ARE BEING A NUISANCE. OF COURSE THIS IS NOT YOUR FAULT. THAT IS WHY I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, WISH TO INFORM YOU, SO THAT IN THE FUTURE YOU WILL REMEMBER.”

The baton is lowered slowly as the orange creature skulks away, bobbing back around the corner. It never ceases to face you or lose its grin.

And finally, the skeleton’s eyes swivel to you, without turning its head. It’s grinning. Or rather, it grins more.

“HELLO! IT IS ALWAYS GOOD TO MEET A NEW – “

The beady little eyes narrow and you tense. What does it mean? What exactly are you looking at?

Then the skeleton’s face brightens suddenly. You almost step back. “OH! ARE YOU A _HUMAN_?”

They – he? – says it with the same flair as ‘celebrity’ or something else that’s rare. You sense naivety, innocence even – it puts you off.

“...” You’ve opened your mouth but forming words turns out to be a far more difficult feat.

All right All right. An individual is speaking with you. One who bears the voice – one of the voices – of the person on the phone...

Human, he’d said. Again and again the word ‘monster’ floats around your brain.

Yes, you venture. You are human.

The skeleton gasps. The fact that he doesn’t have lungs makes you feel even more disconcerted.

“I DID NOT REALISE HUMANS COULD BE SO TALL!” The skeleton says, as if this is a personal happiness to him. “IT FURTHER SUPPORTS MY THEORY THAT HUMANS WERE SOMEHOW DECENDED FROM SKELETONS!”

You have no idea what this means, but not the heart to break the news to him of what exactly you use to stabilise your body on the inside. However, though this skeleton looks mostly human-like in proportion, the eye-sockets are far too small and the torso...

...Is very bulbous armour.

Tall, you enquire, humouring your odd situation once again. The Skeleton side-eyes the wall, as if thinking about something less than pleasant. “YOU HAVE JUST REMINDED ME OF SOMEONE WHO IS VERY LAZY WHO IS ALSO RATHER LACKING IN THE GREAT PAPYRUS’S HEIGHT. IF HE EXCERSISED AND REFRAINED FROM EATING GREASE, PERHAPS THIS WOULD NOT BE. ALAS, HE DOES NOT LISTEN.”

Food packed with grease sounds oddly inviting about now. You could go for something with wrong alcohol in it, too.

But tall, that word –

Oh.

Oh no.

Did small humans come through here, you ask, even though you already know. And even though your skin is beginning to heat up, your blood beginning to simmer, because you know who this fool is.

“YES, A VERY SMALL HUMAN CAME THROUGH HERE NOT LONG AGO!” The skeleton beams, eyes darn near twinkling. “THEY LEFT HOWEVER, ON THEIR QUEST TO RETURN HOME. THEY AGREED TO BECOME THE VERY FIRST ‘FRIEND’ OF THE GREAT PAPYRUS. THEY TOO SHARED MY INGENIOUS LOVE FOR SPAGETTI.”

Puzzlement mixes in with your anger like oil tossed into water. Little human, in a striped sweater?

“YES INDEED.”

You laugh uneasily. Then you ask, part of you still playing along, whether he knows what the Police are.

To his credit the creature actually contemplates it. “HMM...” The eye sockets somehow narrow and you feel queasy at the idea of _moving bone._

“I DO NOT KNOW, I AM AFRAID.” The skeleton says. “BUT THE GREAT PAPYRUS WOULD LOVE TO KNOW.”

You tell him it means you are...authority. Up there with a solider or – or a guard of sorts. The skeleton looks giddy at that word,

“I, TOO, AM A GUARD! THE ROYAL GUARD, FOR YOU SEE, CURRENTLY THERE IS ONLY ONE MEMBER. I DO AS MUCH WORK AS AN ARMY ALL ON MY OWN. IT WOULD SEEM THAT WE ARE KINDERED SPIRITS!”

Ah, you say.

Casually, you mentioned the child again. When you saw them...what happened? The skeleton’s smile, physically or expression, doesn’t seem to falter.

“By ROYAL DEGREE – PREVIOUSLY –“You do not miss the slight slope in his voice at that answer, “ALL HUMANS THAT FELL INTO THE UNDERGROUND HAD TO BE DELIVERED TO THE CAPITAL.”

Delivered? Just what in the world was with terminology like that –?

“IT WAS THE ROYAL GUARD’S DUTY TO CAPTURE A HUMAN. THEN THEY WOULD BE PRESENTED TO THE KING...”

At last, at freaking last, the monster seems uncomfortable. “THEN, I CONFESS...I DO NOT KNOW WHAT HAPPENS.”

Of course you don’t. You almost tell him out of spite of what you are sure is the truth. Because in all this craziness, this complete destruction of what you’ve thought up until now was real...at the end of it, six kids are still _dead._

Why?

The skeleton peers at you, perplexed. “I AM AFRAID I DO NOT UNDERSTAND, HUMAN – TO WHICH SENTENCE DO YOU WANT AN EXLAPNATION FOR?”

The baton feels heavy in your hand. Your exhaustion, hunger, and thirst is beginning to return to you through your heightened senses. Your luck could not have lasted forever.

I am here, you tell him, because six humans went missing. Six, six, the kid kept repeating it. The skeleton watches you and you see...concern flash in his sockets?

You are bewildered again.

“THAT IS TERRIBLE. BUT I ONLY SAW THE HUMAN FROM BEFORE. I AM SURE THEY DID NOT HAVE SIX DOPPLEDANGERS. PAPYRUS WOULD HAVE BEEN AWARE OF SUCH FRIENDS!”

But _spaghetti_ stains, a voice murmurs in your head. Is he lying, or is he just clueless? Despite your fury, your disposition is beginning to waver. Are you starting to believe that perhaps he hadn’t...?

You still tried to capture the last one, you say, as if to reassure yourself. You understand that this is a crime?

“AH, BUT IT WAS THE LAW AT THE TIME. AND IN THE END I DECIDED TO DISPERSE WITH THE FIGHTING, FOR THE GREAT PAPYRUS VALUES FRIENDSHIP OVER AMIBITION.”

...You look away from his smiling face and try to ponder. Then –

Who is this ‘king’ you mentioned?

“KING ASGORE, HUMAN. BUT DO NOT WORRY – I SHALL TELL YOU WHAT I TOLD THE LAST HUMAN.”

You prepare yourself, eyeing him suspiciously.

The skeleton beams, “KING ASGORE...IS A FLUFFY PUSHOVER. BUT CURRENTLY – HE IS ON VACATION.”

You almost laugh at the absurdity of all this. But you feel kind of tired at the moment. Are you beginning to realise that all of this just might be real, as you can’t fall asleep when you’re already dreaming...?

_Remember your duty. Through the chaos, that remains, through the insanity six human children are still..._

You inquire about someone who may be named ‘Riel’. This guy doesn’t seem too bright, but maybe he’ll let more slip. You store the odd name – King Asgore – into your mind for later. Gore. How morbidly appropriate...

The skeleton tilts his head, “DO YOU MEAN ‘ **TOR** IEL?’ AS IN THE QUEEN? THE GREAT PAPYRUS IS IMPRESSED!”

Did she meet the kid, this...Queen? That title had been mentioned in the recordings, but did they actually mean –

“WHY YES.” The skeleton – the apparent ‘Great Papyrus’ said, interrupting your thoughts cleanly. He frowns inquisitively to himself. “IN FACT SHE AND THE SMALL HUMAN WERE VERY CLOSE –SHE STILL HOPES THEY WILL COME AND VISIT HER SOME TIME SOON.”

Hah, hah. Not likely, old chum. You smile in a way that doesn’t reach your eyes and nod semi- indulgingly.

You ask if he can take you to her. He straightens up – somehow more than he was doing so before. “THAT IS WHAT I WAS GOING TO DO TO BEGIN WITH! YOU ARE VERY ALERT, HUMAN.”

He turns so quickly it almost makes you dizzy. You tell him your rank – Lieutenant – though he hasn’t inquired about your name at all. He probably doesn’t know the kid’s name either. Perhaps that’s good.

He strides confidently through a rectangular doorway, all but vanishing from sight. Mindful of the last creature that had tried to lop off your arm, you move after him with the baton held tight. But you don’t want to attack anyone right now.

Or...anything.

You pause, catching sight of him at what appears to be a very broad purple corridor. The pillars are laden with well-kept vines.

You stare upwards, and a closed-in ceiling stares back.

This can’t be real. It can’t be.

But you have no choice but to play along. The kids, remember – you still need to know what happened. Even if the folks back home will think you’re completely insane...

Heck, maybe whatever you’ve been hit with will wear off over time.

“COME ALONG, HUMAN!  IT IS TIME FOR SOME PUZZLES!”

...Wait, what?


	5. There's No Place Like Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little red shoes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter deals with different timelines.  
> Each of the three character takes on the aftermath of a different neutral route.

Alright.

You are standing in the dank dwelling of the people who murdered six children. Your skin feels cold, so very cold – and yet you’re aware that you are sweating, pretty profusely. It’s not just the perspiration of winter that’s soaking into your clothes. The ache and pain in your leg has progressed to a pressure-like throb, numb and attention-consuming. It’s like all the feeling in your body has shut down aside from the lines of flesh below your thigh.

Fever. No doubt about it. Maybe what you see is a fever-dream. But what you hear is clear, oh so clear, to the point where you wonder if it’s actually real.

Hallucinations would work better as an excuse if the sounds were misshapen, too. But they aren’t.

A small skeleton, all black sockets and puffy jacket, is holding its hand up at you with a grin that seems pinched and faux. Your own hands moves; brass knuckles slick with sweat, the weight on the soggy branch making it creak as you lean forward.

You back-hand the skeleton’s fingers away.

_Ffffff –_

Something pops under the force of your hit – though your knuckles are in no way sharp. The sound is like a violently deflating –

“wow, pal.” The skeleton says, in that same lacklustre tone from before, eyeing the now flaccid remains of his prank toy. You scowl anew, nose tickled by sweat, _because does he really think this is funny?_

If your leg wasn’t making you feel ready to hurl you’d be beating him into the dust.

“...probably wouldn’t have worked anyway.” The skeleton says, casually slipping his hands into his pockets – to which your nerves become even more high-strung. The eye-sockets narrow up at you. “that joke was outa gas long ago.”

You don’t miss the pun, but the fist laced with gold-glazed metal really doesn’t. The skeleton zips sideways, without budging – like he’s on a treadmill, he just whoops out of the way and you topple elbow-first into the dirt.

Halfway down you twist your aching frame and aim a kick at him with your good leg, a gruff bark of pain and anger bursting from your lips.

Miss again.

He laughs, the same garbled, chipped-ended chuckle you’d analysed on the old phone dozens of times. He stares down at you, now from above, still acting all lax. “you guys really like to hit things, don’t you?”

“Could say the same for you lot.” You hiss through barred teeth – because judging by the kid’s warbled account, everything bar the kitchen sink (and that was saying something, as they’d doodle something that looked like a shallow tub with a face at one point,) had tried to attack them.

“...hey, pal. I’ll let you in on a secret.”

Knees bend and the skeleton is hovering over your face. Is that – cold you can feel, radiating off the bone? You feel something in the air between your foreheads.

You scowl, all wrinkled-forehead and twisted lip. “...most monsters were like my brother. Probably like the kid, if you’re not pulling my leg about them.”

“Clueless?” You scoff, “All of them? _You?_ The lady who led ‘em off?”

“don’t be dissing that woman.” The skeleton says, with another empty delivery. “she’s probably the reason that kid’s alive. She found ‘em sitting around and fed them, helped them out.”

“And I’m supposed to just _believe_ you?”

“...pretty much.” The skeleton steps back them, sighing heavily – theatrically, you think. When does a skeleton actually need to sigh? The edge of the sound is brittle. “could say the same to you about the kid.”

_Alright, that does it, screw all the layers of protocol -_

And the reality of your leg, apparently, as you go for him again. He zips out of your way again and this time you heave yourself back to your off-put legs, knowing all the while that he’s simply standing there and watching you like a barely-moving prop at a carnival.

The way this guys moves is all wrong, it doesn’t fit the laws of physics – uncanny territory that makes it seem like he’s not quite in the same space as you.

It’s the kind of thing that makes some people queasy when they look through 3D glasses.

The world swims around you. The white and blue figure blurs and suddenly there’s ten of him, and you’re pretty sure an extra pair of heads that seem longer and pointier on either side of those ten...

Fever’s a hell of a drug.

“i don’t think this place is human-proof just yet.” The skeleton says, all casual and polite. “maybe you should ix-nay on the investigation.”

You laugh. It’s rough and bristling and more like a croak than a show of humour. “Not likely.”

This is said moments before you topple. You’re out before you hit the ground.

...

The smell of dust, homemade food, and old fabric clogs your senses.

Then pain leaps up your whole body, like your _own_ skeleton has called mutiny and decided to enact vengeance upon you. But as your senses come back to you for the second time, you realise the sweat on your skin has dried...and while your leg aches six times to Sunday, there’s no longer an ominous burn or a dangerous numbness.

You’ve been treated.

No hospital smells, no tang of disinfectant. You’ve been to the surgeons before...there’s always a pale, exposed light and mechanical hum.

This is no hospital, there’s been no rescue.

You’re on an old-fashioned couch and you aren’t lying down in this...old fashioned living room. There’s frilly curtains, a rather plain carpet, a quaint little table and chair set. Everything appears...oddly proportioned.

Eyes closing, you try to ward off the aftertaste of blood in your mouth. You seem to have cut open your lip when you hit the ground. That remains as a scab. Darn it.

All right. Obviously, this is the interior of the house you were having that oh-so pleasant chat with the...skeleton outside. Focus on what makes sense.

Focus.

You hear voices. Muffled by several walls – a few rooms down, you recon. The hoodie guy. You strain, breathing low and slow and almost holding it as you strain to hear.

Can’t make out words. But it’s a woman. With a soft but firm voice.

What if...

Footsteps, one pair light and scuffing, one much heavier. You slump and close your eyes as the living room door swings open.

“...kids are one thing, Toriel, but maybe you ought to take five with this guy.”

“There is always a few instances where reason can still be established.” The woman’s voice is old-fashioned, but with an accent you can’t describe. And her name – obviously she’s the one who –

Calm, calm.

“We shall hear what he wants.”

“...pretty obvious.”

Silence. They’ve both gone into the next room. Sounds like a kitchen – you hear the tap going as the door closes.

“It may not come to that, Sans.” The voice is softer. “Now is not the time for more violence.”

Their voices drop to lower tones you cannot decipher. They remain in the kitchen for a long while, long enough for your neck to go stiff.

Slowly, you shimmy upright.

Standing on your leg feels strange and off...but it works perfectly fine. The pain is just a fleeing tweek now, no way impeding. That disturbs you. How long have you been out?

Tip-toeing to the doorway is difficult. But you need to take a look around while you have a chance, before they try to hide anything else.

Maybe flee if you have to. You’ve barely gotten any answers from the skeleton, and this woman nicking kids off the forest trail is clearly delusional. ‘Be reasoned with’, your coated hide.

The hallway is sickeningly innocent. Odd reed-like plants.

The first door is just as nice and simple as the rest of the place. You turn the handle slowly, so no clunk gives you away.

It opens easily. No creak, nothing. The light is off, only the hallway glow pouring onto the opposite wall.

There’s a plain portrait of a golden flower caked in dust. You step in, careful to close the door behind you – but not before catching the sight of a lamp.

You feel around and flick it on. The entire room ignites.

Its pink-red, and it’s a child’s room.

You have never felt more disturbed when looking at such furniture. It’s perfect, the kind you see in displays and magazines. Buts its old fashioned – frilly curtains and bed sheets, and since boys used to go around in buckles and white collars in your Grandfather’s time, you concede it could be either a boy or girl’s.

There’s a toy box. A shoe box. You approach the toys first, careful not to touch any of them. Man, you wish your phone hadn’t broken – you could’ve taken pictures...

Old wooden toys. Musical instruments. No plastic or electronic gaming kinds. Frozen in time. Interesting to a historian maybe, but not to you...

Then the shoebox. You expect, almost humorously, that there will be buckle shoes.

...There are children’s shoes in an assortment of sizes. All different, boys and girls alike.

You feel a chill, and something inside you curl. _Jeeze._

Bending down, you peer in closer. The largest shoes catch your attention – trainers, grubby and grey, with laces. Preserved but clearly old. You check your notes...fourteen year old boy. These fit that average size.

Then there’s school shoes, size five. The girl with the notebook?

And...

A pair of tiny little shoes. Red ones. Little red shoes, for a six-year old wearing a little red ribbon.

Perhaps, underneath the second and third skin grown by your years of work in this field, some sentimentality aside from anger and already expected disgust...stirs. Perhaps, a less organised, less focused, and less experienced man would have burst into ugly tears right then and there.

Staring at these tiny shoes and remembering the old couple, clutching that ribbon in their hands and _wondering._

They could have been tinier shoes in here yet. Little black pointy ones belonging to a funny little kid in a striped sweater.

It’s hardly a consolation considering all the others, but it reminds you of your duty. You stand up and scribble some notes.

_\- Child’s room_

_\- old fashioned_

_\- shoes belonging to victims – but only five pairs. Ballet shoes accounted for back at the station._

_\- room looks well-kept when it comes to the furniture. Decorations untouched. Bed newly made...freshly cleaned. Preparation for a new resident?_

That eerie thought makes you pause. This whole room suddenly feels wrong, and horrific. Like a trap.

You leave, with the feeling you’re running out of time hanging over your shoulder.

Alright, a quick check of the other rooms before you bail. Those two less-than-smart cookies are still in the kitchen, if they’d noticed you’d gone they’d be on to you.

Next room is locked. You don’t try to force it.

The last surprises you in that it’s almost predominantly blue. The bed is _massive_ , bigger than king-sized.

It feels cold in here. A desk distracts you and you shuffle over, adjusting your collar.

A blatant red circle is etched into an old open book.

_what do you call a detective who’s bad at his job?_

_ineffective._

It would work better if it wasn’t just a rhyme. Rushed, huh? You’re guessing by the blatant...comic sans font and lack of capitals that it’s the mumbling guy.

...But you get the feeling you should leave. Quickly.

But you saw a staircase. You still haven’t been spotted, or discovered – you just may have time. No one said you signed up to this job because you value self-preservation above all...

A turn.

Guess who’s standing in the doorway, grinning easily at you.

And the room gets that little less brighter.

“heya.” The little lights hovering in the sockets watch you lazily. “that’s a kinda florescent notebook cover for someone with that coat, huh?”

You stuff your admittedly red notebook back into your pocket. “Get out of my way.” No more games.

“hang on. I’ve got my own questions. why don’t we jumble up the stereotypical interview by switching spots?” The bottom of his eye sockets inch up as if he’s smiling just a tad more.

Despite the fact this guy is ridiculously small, you still get this gut instinct that he’s dangerous. Perhaps you can worm some information out of him without him realising.

You wrinkle your nose. “Shoot.”

“the kid.” The guy’s expression goes stony again, more intense. “you said they had no idea that they were killing people. If they were really a baby bones, how could they read?”

Read...?

They couldn’t have. You whirl it around in your head, but scowl. “What does it matter if they read something or not? That doesn’t give you the excuse...”

“and they fought off some monsters pretty well. Without help.” The guy tilts his head oh-so-casually at you. Your fury bubbles, because he thinks he’s got you on the spot.

“Monsters.” You say instead, bitterly. “Kid got lucky. They’re a funny little tyke, they’re probably smarter than most. It’s how they got away after six others were killed.”

The little lights vanish.

“...lemme ask you something.” The skeleton says. You get the feeling that he’s staring right through you. “have you ever had to do something you didn’t want to, but had to because it was necessary?”

One beat. Two beat. Three beat.

“When,” You hiss, “Is killing kids necessary?”

You step forward, and a strange noise tears through the air. Or – wriggles through it. Everything goes black.

You feel as though you’ve just instigated something.


	6. All You See Is Nines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like the force that drove you up here...you are compelled to play along.  
> (Or, Sergeant is having a bad time.) Warning - mention of violence.

When you awake, the feeling is unsettlingly similar to the aftermath of resuscitation – or recovering from hacking up water from your lungs. How do you know that?

You’d tell whoever was asking to M iNd t h Eir own business. Your body feels like lead, your limbs are heavy and yet you feel the way the blood rushes, numb and cold. The pain seems to radiate from your chest outward, no – more than that, the pure centre of you, and each breath (though strangely painless) seems to shake reality itself.

And just like that it’s all over; you’re lying on your back. The left side of your face is sticky and damp –you Police Dog is licking persistently at your cheek, whining low. The same darkness from before surrounds you.

Sitting up happens almost on its own.

You throw your arm back, pulling it at the awkward angle, and feel down your spine.

...That wasn’t – it couldn’t...

Your fingers dig into the flesh below the jacket. You felt it break. You felt the bone, the spine, shatter.

Unconsciousness – you’ve experienced it before. It isn’t like sleep but it wasn’t...wasn’t as sudden. After the pain in your back, the bone-chilling awareness that your spinal cord had snapped came crashing upon you...and then everything had _stopped._

The Dog wanders ahead, darkness not a deterrent to canine senses. It’s sniffing the corners of this...place. Again, in the exact same manner as it did before. The déjà-vu makes you feel off and uncomfortable.

You try to brush it off. Perhaps – what you had seen had been some warped dream. Your fall had knocked you senseless. In a way...this was a relief.

Wasn’t it?

So when would you start feeling better?

You walk, and it does not get better. The same faded torchlight guides your way; even the way your flashlight shakes in your hand is the same. The small illuminated circle traces the same purple-grey rock...and soon enough you find the broken bridge again, the rotting vegetation.

A Rustle.

Your Dog growls sharply and you spin around so fast your vision blurs as it attempts to catch up with you.

There’s nothing there. Just a – small pile of dirt, barely higher than a thumb. Like someone had tug up a small seed-sized patch and hastily covered it again...

You hadn’t been staring at your feet as you walked here, so you probably just missed it. Right?

Staring into the strange, overgrown hallway, you conclude that nothing is there. But its only when your dog finally ceases its growling and begins ambling on that you finally pull your own attention away.

Keep going. Keep going. It’s not going to be the same, it’s not going –

A dead tree branch, aloft and suspended mid-air like an extending hand, slides into the small circle of light emitting from your flashlight. Your breath comes out in a shudder as you realise that again, it’s the dead tree.

And behind it is the house, looming.

Police Dog goes unfathomably still; tail up, back fur rising as they stare intently into one of the windows.

The door opens. The big white paw reaches out to claps the frame, just like before, and despite how _impossible_ it seems the fact that things are repeating sinks in.

This time, however, you do not shout that there the police is outside the...thing’s door. Instead you lower your flashlight, your mind working on this warped logic – if it doesn’t see you maybe things will change.

Police Dog has already given you away. Staring at one of the windows.

That strikes you as odd but you’re so frazzled, you can’t figure why. Why is it odd? Think, think –

“Hello?” The feminine, well-bred voice from before comes at you again, “Is someone...oh my.”

You step away as the goat-thing stares at you again, alarm present on its features – more so than the last time. Your eyes are not on her; however, they’re on the darkened space behind her. Nothing is there. Nothing is –

Police Dog dips down, staring intently. “Oh my...” The goat-woman opens the door to the full, her eyes trailing to your flashlight, your clammy face. “Are you all right? You seem unwell.”

Like dialogue in a movie.

“But...” She seems to put on a brave face, something that could perhaps fool a _toddler,_ but not you. “Do not be alarmed – I am Toriel, Caretaker of the Ruins...” Her expression grows slightly empty as she glances off to the side, “Although things have gone to disarray in...recent times.”

Lips opening and closing in soundless struggle, you remember the weight in your chest pocket like the gun itself has reminded you of its presence. Any moment now, any moment.

The goat woman’s brows lift and she turns her head to glance behind her. “Hm? Is something...oh, S –“

White skull in the darkness. You almost rip your jacket going for your gun.

Cold inside your chest, body like stone, a scream never manages to kick-start in your throat –

And Police Dog lunges like a bullet himself, nudging the large goat-creature in the side and hurtling towards the skull. For a blink, you think you see one socket go wide and a rain of sweat fly from the skull’s cranium – you don’t register more than that.

You’re flung backwards...at a different angle, and when you hit the floor you are still in one piece. Your back has not been snapped in two.

Police Dog does not fear death, it seems – he’s barking at a small, stooped figure in the doorway just behind the goat. Said white monster is leant against the door frame, completely bemused and a little off-put.

The skull has a body, you find.

Blue hood, slippers, a grubby undershirt. It’s – quite frankly ridiculous. It’s something a kid would scribble. And it’s staring at your trusty canine with an arched brow made of _bone._

“...okay, this is new.” It states, as the Dog continues to bark (but seems to have rooted itself on the spot.)

What does he mean?

Aren’t you forgetting something? You’re holding the gun. Its sitting on your lap while your head reels and everyone’s forgotten about you. The urge to lift it is strong, oh so strong.

And yet you’ve gotten the memo that if you do you’re going to wake up back on those rotting flowers.

Something pin-pointed and blue peers at you through the dim lighting. You realise that to add to your dropped flashlight, there’s a faint glow resonating from inside the buildings.

Police Dog growls, nudging his damp nose against the skeleton’s temple. It seems to ignore the dog, its...eye on you.

“...heya.”

There’s something morbid in that expression. You read it like you can read the way someone’s smile doesn’t reach their eyes, or when a figurative glint appears in a pupil...you just know that he’s smirking at your maddened face and fury bubbles inside of your soul, filling you with contempt.   

You swear at him. Loudly. His brow lifts higher.

“There is no need for this.” The goat-thing says, and she appears between you both like a looming statue. Purple robes block your view of the comically horrific sight of the skeleton. “Sans, we have discussed this.”

“...thing is, Tori, they aren’t exactly holding a flower bouquet.” The voice is casual and thick, annoyingly deep in the sense that it just doesn’t match the image of its user. You are certain that you have died, and this is some warped sense of hell.

“Please, we must get them inside; they are not thinking straight –“Their voices are punctuated by the dog’s perfectly timed parts. They synchronise with your heartbeat as you stand. “If anyone sees them –“

 “...Who are you?”

It’s a rasp that’s barely recognisable, your voice. “...And who am I hiding from?”

Besides you. The goat-woman stares at you with a half-mortified look. Turned sideways she allows you to see the skeleton again.

The blue orb in the dark is gone, replaced by twinkling little lights that make you want to hurl. “...welcomin’ party phase too, bucko.”

“Screw you.” You hiss. It sounds pathetic.  

“Please.” The goat-thing says again, and now she’s facing you. Police Dog has rejoined your side, calmly eyeing them both down. That alone makes you feel less likely to pass out, for some reason. Dogs. They’re good for the soul. “You must come inside. You are lucky not to have been seen, My friend.”

The skeleton says nothing as you eye it down.

The darkness seems to creep in on the house. The light draws at some primitive instinct and the temptation to go inside is suddenly unbearable. Like the force that drove you up here...you are compelled to play along.

And you walk inside.

...

When you do the skeleton vanished from sight. The goat-thing had walked by him, cutting off your view of him again – and when she left he’d simply gone. Your brain turns around this in mute contemplation as she closes the door.

Her expression is solemn. “...I apologise for my hastiness. But you have arrived in a...difficult time. Please...join me in the living room.”

Hands folded neatly in front of her, the creature strides into the next room.

Leaving you alone in a silence you’ve never known. The hall is clean and broad. A staircase leading downwards lies to your right, several doors dotting the yellow wall.

Your ears buzz with the quiet, and like an vacant waiting room the hall’s emptiness prods you to follow.

There’s an empty fireplace. Books strewn all over the floor, in piles, on their own. The table is unthinkably crowded with them.

The newest one, you note, looks like something _you_ would use back in high school. Not as modern as they could be.

The...goat woman stands in the centre of the room. Beside a chair that would fit her perfectly. But he doesn’t sit down.

Her face remains closed off, as do you. Your guard is up.

“...This is the Underground. The area you have just travelled through was the first settlement, the Ruins. It is...mostly empty, now.” Her eyes avert.

You say nothing. Not yet. Police Dog stands by your side, watching her blankly. If there was a threat, you are sure he’d be picking it up, so you try to regain what’s left of your composure.

Your silence is taken as an indication to go on. “...More than a month ago, a human fell down into the Ruins.”

 _Thud-thud._ Your heartbeat goes off in your head as your interest swoons.

With a faint twitch, the goat-woman barely smiles. “...I took care of them the best I could. I hoped they would leave here in peace, and alive. They did, unlike so many before them.”

Your interest sours.

“...That’s...why I’m here.”

Her eyes pop back to you and she stares at you inquisitively. “It is? But why would you returned here – do you not know what befalls humans when they come here? Do you not know your only way of leaving has been...”

You’re having a conversation about missing children with a goat-monster.

In a house under a mountain. After re-living the same half-hour of your life, a half-hour that had ended in...

“The child couldn’t tell us much,” You say, with a hint of reproachfulness. “They were too young to remember.”

Worry passes over her features, then. It almost gets to you. “...How old were they? They did not say much.”

You set your lips and pause before answering. “...Four.” Perhaps – perhaps you shouldn’t have said that, you think. But what does it matter now.

She closes her eyes and this time she takes a moment herself. As if warding off some headache – or emotion. “...I am glad they escaped.”

So...she didn’t lead them off?

“Who are you...were you protecting them from?”

The threat is a quiet, oppressive force that picks at the darkened window frames and carpets. The Unknown fear that lurked at the edge of the forest and drew people away from their families and friends...

“...revenge, pretty much.”

A bark and a turn, and the skeleton is standing in front of you. Your eyes strain to look down at him without bending your back.

“...” A bead of sweat runs down your brow. “Revenge?”

“Yup.”

You killed me, didn’t you? You just murdered me and now I’m standing here, talking to you. “ _Why?”_ you ask before you can stop yourself. “Why is all of this happening?”

The skeleton’s face remains in that grin. “...’cause you guys got antsy, and decided monsters had to stop existing.”

Something dings in the other room. By the way it rings (the acoustics...) you guess there’s tiles. Tiles, kitchen. The goat woman gives a smile that holds a little more warmth, and moves into the next room.

“I shall be right back. Please, try to be civil.”

It takes you a moment to realise that sentiment isn’t directed at you. A moment passes and you stare at the skeleton. He’s watching you with that grin of his.

Police Dog starts to growl, and you know that the moment the woman left the room was the moment a bad hour had started.

How can a skeleton’s...eyes sockets close? It sighs, resigned and simple. “...whoo. glad she went to get tea before she could get me to promise something.”

You open your mouth to retort and –

KRRRRR

All you see is nines.

 

 


	7. It Would Be Rude To Do That

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Audiences are nice - when they're wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took longer. I've been busy and days have just been zipping by. I also got a bit stuck - had an idea, didn't know how to execute it. Hopefully it goes well.  
> And I hope it isn't too tiresome.  
> (Each chapter deals with one of three characters; each will experience a different timeline, and depending on how this plays out there will be insights to different outcomes for each of them.)

You feel as though you are being led around by an enthusiastic child – or perhaps a very zealous college student who just completed a corny, but heart-warmingly done project. And it’s neither of these things ushering you along...but a skeleton.

And that’s not what makes you want to laugh, and then cry, then crawl into a corner and do both. You are standing before what looks like a very intense version of...hopscotch. You’d been nagged into playing this with other kids at school – you hadn’t ever liked the game. Jumping you’d liked, leaping yes – but hopping was just...underwhelming.

The slabs of stone here were glistening brightly, and you can catch just the faintest whiff of cleaning products. Each slab held a colourful dot. Blue, cyan, green, red, and the like...

The skeleton stood on the opposite side; water splashed lithely further ahead. It looks unfathomably blue from here, even the small droplets that splash away from the main body that should go transparent...you notice all of this while trying to remember your job.

“IT IS A VERY SIMPLE PUZZLE, HUMAN!” The skeleton proclaims. Yes it is, you say – without mentioning that it’s based on a child’s game. You feel silly.

You’ve been trying to ask questions up until now but the answers are...not very informative. Inquiring about the other six humans –

“I ONLY KNOW ONE HUMAN, I AM AFRAID – WAIT. I ALREADY SAID THAT.”

And about this ‘King’ –

“HE HAS BEEN GONE FOR A MONTH NOW, MAYBE A BIT MORE – I HAVE NOT BEEN KEEPING A CALANDER. I ASSURE YOU.”

It seemed he interoperated your very open questions to very narrow ones. That is, he could’ve told you so many things but settled on the bare bones of it. Or a repetition. You got the feeling that this guy had a very one-track mind, at least at the moment, so trying to ask him something _now_ would bear no fruit.

So you stepped forward, and heard the slab slink loudly into the ground. It sounded like a slow-motion version of a ‘blip’.

Figuring out the puzzle took...longer than it should have, perhaps because your heart just wasn’t in to it. Eventually you had to drag up those childhood memories to get into a hopping rhythm; deciphering the colours method my method.

Turns out going to each colour via the rainbow was incorrect.

The skeleton’s smile was still firmly in place, but you could tell by the narrowed look in his eye that he was off-put by your lack of progress.

Red first, you got that right as the ‘noise’ the slab made when you stepped on it rang merrily. Eventually you went by trial and error – Red. Light Blue. Orange...Blue...Purple...Green,

Several mess-ups then a re-try.

_Yellow._

The water up ahead was suddenly cut off by something – something rising out from beneath. A metallic bridge, glistening brightly under the torchlight. You’d done it. Panting slightly, you step off the slab and –

“WELL DONE HUMAN! IT ONLY TOOK YOU SEVERAL HOURS.” This was said in such an encouraging tone than you had to repeat it in your head. Several hours? Why weren’t you hungrier, thirstier?

Maybe he’d made a mistake. He didn’t seem – all there, this one.

But you had an opening, you’d played his game. Mustering up all your patience, you breathe and ask about the last human. More specifically – why did you...people want to catch them?

“DID THEY NOT EXPLAIN? I’D HOPED THEY HAD NOT TAKEN A LEAF OUT OF SANS’ BOOK.” The skeleton speaks as if you should know what he is talking about –

Sans.

You almost hear your train of thought and slightly-clam mood shatter in your head. Sam, Samson, _something..._

It shouldn’t haunt you, that name, but it does. You swallow and prompt him to continue. The tall being gives a loud sigh. “WE NEED HUMANS TO LEAVE THE UNDERGROUND OF COURSE – THEIR SOULS HAVE A SPECIAL QUALITY THAT ALLOWS THEM TO...FRACTURE MAGICAL BARRIERS, APPARENTLY.”

...You try to translate that into some kind of logic.

Barrier?

The tall skeleton seems to know little more than you. “FROM WHAT I UNDERSTAND IT WAS MADE BY – HUMANS, LONG, LONG AGO. HOWEVER, DESPITE THE SMALL HUMAN GOING THROUGH, IT REMAINS WHERE IT IS.”

Clearly he knows nothing of the other hu – of the kids. And try as you may you can’t keep being suspicious of him, at least, your anger and loathing has diverted away from him, like water around a rock. He’s simply...too naive, and your gut tells you that this is no act.

You go with your gut, for now. Maybe he truly is...oblivious. But that can’t mean this brother of his will be, too...

“COME ALONG, HUMAN!” The skeleton turns on his heel and begins striding off, bones chattering all the while – keeping up is difficult after so much hopping.

Vapour from the splashing river gives you some relief, and fills you with a new resolve. You ask about the messages. Can you tell me – who else was mentioned?

“THAT WOULD BE UNDYNE AND ALPHYS. YOU SEE, UNDYNE IS CURRENTLY AIDING OUR SEARCH INTO A NEW BARRIER-BREAKING ROUTE.”

Undyne. Alphys. You ask where they are, hopefully before you can get to anymore –

“AH, HERE WE ARE!”

Puzzles.

...

Down here, without sun or moon or star, calculating time becomes – difficult. And having a rather enthusiastically silly skeleton as your only source of intelligence does not help. Four puzzles later, and after almost being force-fed spaghetti (seeing it, and remembering the stains on a certain garment, makes your stomach turn.) You finally strike up conversation again.

Where, exactly, are we going?

“WHY, TO MEET THE QUEEN!  WE ARE ALMOST AT OLD HOME. THEN WE SHALL GO INTO THE BASEMENT. IT’S VERY LOVELY DOWN THERE.”

...No one but this skeleton could delivery that line and somehow make it sound delightful.

All right. This skeleton apparently didn’t interact with the foster home teen who went missing. So...what question, what –

You say what comes to mind. The skeleton peers over his shoulder at you, eye a twinkle. “WHY IT WAS UNDYNE WHO TAUGHT ME HOW TO COOK SPAGETTI! I ADDED IN MY OWN SKILL AND PERSONAL TOUCHES OVER TIME, HOWEVER, BUT SHE INTRODUCED ME TO A REALM OF CUISINE AND PASTA. IT IS A NOBLE SKILL.”

Asking ‘who taught you how to cook’ would’ve been taken as an insult by anyone else. Judging by....everything, he was either a slow learner or hadn’t been learning long. Ego, someone taught him. Undyne...hadn’t the kid mentioned...

Violent lady near the water.

You nod as good-naturedly as you can, still humouring the whole situation. Passing over the water-splashed bridges drowns out any questions you have at the ready. Think. You can’t follow this guy right to people who took – and perhaps attempted to hurt – the kid. You need to shake him, or slip away – preferably soon.

Ever burn a pan, you ask mildly, trying to keep him talking. He beams,

“AH, BUT HOW ELSE WOULD YOU SHOWCASE YOUR PASSION?”

Ever...lose a pan?

The foster boy went missing years ago, however, and you doubted this odd being would recall it.

Slowly, ever-so-slowly, you begin to fall back a little, glancing left and right – but there are no alternate hallways right now. The Skeleton begins chattering the second you step off the bridge –

“SINCE THE QUEEN RETURNED, THINGS HAVE BEEN - MORE DIFFICULT. BUT WE HAVE NOT GIVEN UP HOPE. THANKS TO HER MAJESTY, ALL HUMANS GET A SPECIAL WELCOME!”

Do they now? That sounds lovely. So they didn’t beforehand?

“WELL...” The skeleton hums thoughtfully for a moment.  “NO. IT WOULD SEEM SOME OF OUR PEOPLE WERE...MURDER-Y.”

You stop and _gape._

And that completely destroys your subtle attempt to scoot away, but you can’t help it. How can he phrase that so blatantly? How can he be leading you to ‘murdery’ people so off-handedly?

You clear your throat as the monster stops and looks at you, bewilderment clear on his pale bone face. You tell him that – that he can’t mean that word. After all, wouldn’t they still feel...murderous? What changed? You left out the last question you had – why should I _believe_ it’s changed?

Some insane gaggle of creatures underground caused the death of six children, attempted a seventh – why would they suddenly _stop?_

You tell him it doesn’t work like that. That its swell they’ve apparently changed their minds, but you can’t just – end things that way.

The skeleton turns to face you full on, his brow creasing as he takes in what so you say. You can’t help the small spark of satisfaction you experience upon seeing his confidence on the matter waver.

“... I WAS ONCE TOLD THAT NECESSITY BROUGHT ABOUT HARSH MEANS TO A BETTER END.”

With a stare you can feel bristling in your own eyeballs, you ask who on earth told him that. He looks at you with an almost puzzled expression. “HM. YOU KNOW, I CANNOT RECALL...YOU WOULD THINK I WOULD REMEMBER THE WISE ONE WHO GAVE ME SUCH A NONSENSICAL-SOUNDING PIECE OF ADVICE.”

For a moment everything feels odd. Suddenly there’s a desire inside of you to backtrack, like you’ve trespassed into something. Like pressing on a mourner’s conscience, or asking after a personal matter. But a tad more...dangerous?

You look behind you.

“COME ALONG, HUMAN!” He’s back to being chipper – hurrah. Suddenly an oddly warm hand grasps your own and you are being led along like a child. You are too baffled to say anything for a moment, as it seems your ‘slink away’ plan has failed...

You frown and try to come up with another, when more...beings appear on the sidelines. Watching. Floating orange...things. Others that look like kid doodles on nursery walls brought to life. You end up being transfixed.

All you do is stare as he leads you into the house, then the staircase. They watch you from the banisters, cackling and crooning and mumbling, and its only the suddenly drop in light and temperature...and noise in general, that breaks the spell.

Trying to be polite, you tug your hand away. The skeleton doesn’t seem to mind – in fact he continues on, speed walking.

Around a corner. If you want to escape and continue planning, now would be your best bet. But those other...things saw you come in, and going back would put you right at the centre of them – without your odd guide.

With a huff, you continue onward, unable to shake the feeling that you are being watched. The skeleton, you find at a...doorway? A very large door, stone to boot, with a symbol on it you do not recognise...

You eye the design to keep in mind for later. Hey, monsters can have creepy cults too, can’t they?

The skeleton pushes the door open with far less effort than you’d guess it would be. Huh. Guess he’d drank his milk...

There’s light outside, and cold. Your insides leap – holy cow, are you back outside? Has he led you to some cave opening somewhere lower down the mountain range? You wander forward into the light and –

_Frfffff._

There’s snow.

Just. Just snow. You smell pine trees, taste winter on the air. You stare onwards. It...appears dark, but strangely enough at the same time everything is well lit. Like a stage; the foreground is pushed into a glow while everything behind the identical-looking tree trunks is pitch black.

There is no wind. The skeleton walks along and stops, twisting around to face you. Waiting. He looks expectant but doesn’t rush you.

...You look up. Far, far above...you can make out the roof of the cave, and your stomach drops to your feet in shock. How? How is this possible? What is this?

Stooping down and poking at the snow tells you it’s real; so does tapping a tree. The skeleton watches you with clear amusement and you shuffle away from the trunk, embarrassed.

How did they pull this off? If this is still underground then someone built it. Judging by how well-kept the illusion is, its a long-term project. How long have they worked on it? The sixty-years stretched between missing cases pops back to mind but even then you can't fathom it...

All right. All right. Whatever logic you have left just went through a skeleton-shaped _shredder._

“DO YOU NOT HAVE TREES UP ABOVE GROUND?” The skeleton inquires, “THE SMALL HUMAN DID NOT SEEM SURPRISED!”

For a kid this is like stepping into winter-wonderland. For you it’s like stepping into a loony bin. 

You begin towards him, about to ask how this is possible – though you won’t get a good answer, will you –

But guess what, seeing you move made him think you were following again – and off he speed-walks. You’re left standing there, the cold silence pressing in on you.

_Zzzzz._

That sound, you know that sound. Think, think. You turn, wander towards some bushes. Your gloves hand grabs haphazardly at the leaves and...

Your face stares back at you from a camera lens.

And in an instant you’ve recoiled as if it’s bitten you. What _is_ this? A security camera? Perhaps...or, your mind offers unhelpfully, for something else.  Who watches people wander around a faux landscape like this?

It better not be like in the movies where the creeps video-tape their victim’s escapades. You step out of the camera’s line of sight, glaring into it all the while.

They’ve seen that you’re coming anyway.

And that you’re not happy with them.


	8. And One More Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You really could have been nicer. (The Detective Returns.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, longer wait - again with my excuses, alongside having to paint something that a relative requested for their birthday and he fact that I'm coughing and spluttering with the cold, my brain lately has just been...shut down for writing and drawing. There's so many things I could be getting on with but I find myself stuck...but inspiration struck and I managed to finish this.  
> (Each character (of the three that have fallen will experience a different timeline, and depending on how this plays out there will be insights to different outcomes for each of them.)

Okay. You’re instigated some kind of fight. You don’t have to be a detective to deduct that one. The skeleton is still flashing that oh-so punch-able smile at you. You don’t care if it’s anatomically impossible for him to stop doing it. You’ve had a rough night.

“whoa, buddy. you caught on pretty fast to this.” He drawls, the praise ill-said and clearly not intended to make you feel good.

So you retort, “You don’t seem too disconcerted about me attacking your bony ass. Do you feel a snag of guilt after all?”

It’s as if he hadn’t been sassed so well in years, even though your barb is, admittedly – poor. You are standing in darkness, a vivid, oozy state of existence that makes every thought that passes through your brain feel like it’s coming through a loud speaking – isolated and emphasized.

All right, all right. _INTERREGATE._

You ask _why_ these bo-zos have been killing people. What’s the motive, you wonder, aside from being plain sick. Sometimes there is no reason at all, but hey, you have to start somewhere.

“how ‘bout this, bucko.” The skeleton says, eyeing you (somehow) with an air that mirrors your own, “you get a question, then i get a question. Make us both happy.”

“...I can live with that, pal.” Pal, Bucko, Chum – you’re both using words for ‘friend’ interchangeably as if trying to out-do the other in how venomous you can sound. You doubt that you’ll ever be able to use these terms honestly and genuinely again.

You could just lie, of course. Giving even...a skeleton case facts is against everything you know, and it could be dangerous to the kid...but then how do you know that he won’t lie to _you?_

“Alright.” You say, “I asked mine already. Why?”

“broad topic.” The creature drawls, his hands going to his pockets. You watch him with obvious suspicion. “but we’re stuck down here. we need human souls.”

“...I take it that’s not some kind of metaphor, or a code word.” Reasonably you’d try to explain it that way, interoperate it in a way that would be...realistic. You huff. “Look, I dunno what you think is real down here, but souls...they’re not something you can _take_ from someone like nicking their wallet...especially when they’re dead. It’s gone.”

This is only said because something in his tone makes you actually believe he thinks it’s possible for that to happen...which means he’s bat-shit insane. The corners of his jaws twitch. It’s his turn to ask and you have to wait for the next one to ask him what the ever-burning hell he meant.

“...okie dokie, then.” He says. You wrinkle your nose at him. “here’s my question. What did the kid tell ya about this place?”

Warning bells ring loud and shrill. That wasn’t going to fly. “Broad question.” You echo back. “A lot of messed up stuff, mostly. Creepy pale men stalking them in the dark, friendly women who turn around and attack them.” You begin your list nonchalantly. “Things they don’t get because they’re too little to understand. But what I got from it was that everything down here wanted to hurt them.”

“really think it’s that black and white?” the skeleton asks you. You wonder if that’s his deliberate second question or if he’s asking on impulse. Your lip curls either way.

“Yup. My turn again.”

Think fast, think fast, don’t let him lead this thing. All right. “Say you could actually just take a soul out of a body...what would you need it _for?”_

He stares at you. Those little lights that hovered in his head are gone, and your skins begins to prickle, like you’re being exposed to something. You refuse to budge, however, and he sighs. “...to get out of here.”

Vague as ever. You place a hand on your belt. Your brass knuckles must have left imprints on your skin by now. “...did you see any other ‘human’s down here?”

The eye-sockets are a tad bit narrower at that. “yeah. though you knew that already.”

His turn. You can feel the tension going taught between you. The smile on his face has been vetoed by the glare created by his eye sockets. Getting antsy, was he?

“...million dollar question. what’re _you_ doing here?”

It’s obvious that you aren’t here by pure mishap. You came looking for them – looking for him. And you’ve found them. “...a lot of parents want to know what happened to their kids, bone boy.”

“doesn’t make it better. Trust me – a lot of monsters know what happened to theirs and it doesn’t help.”

But something in his voice sounds...empty. Resigned. But he starts talking again, twinkling little lights back and...present. “So. An actual detective, here to crack the case.”

You smile. “Avoiding the issue, pal? Or do you just not believe me about the kid?”

“i don’t remember much about humans, but no little kid could do what they do.”

You would agree if you weren’t in this business, “Frightened kids can do a lot. You get bad eggs, but that munchkin was too young to know chalk from cheese.”

“Or dust from dirt.” The monster says, and you sense that’s supposed to...mean something. You hate the vagueness of all this, its nibbling at your temper.

Dust from dirt, ashes to ashes, you can’t make sense of it.

“That supposed to mean something?” You try not to swear; it’s unbecoming of a professional. He laughs again.

“...you really don’t know either. wow. This must be hilarious to whoever’s playing around with everybody. Kids, grown-ups, none of you humans know what’s going on, do you?”

 _“No.”_ You say, and you feel you are abandoning this weird ‘match’. As you realise this the darkness begins to fade; you can see the outlines of the blue bedroom, the hallway light. “ _For God Almighty’s sake,_ just get it out of your teeth already! Why did you lot murder those kids? What the hell is all that chalky stuff covering all of the –“

Something pops inside your head. Dust from dirt, the unknown substance caking the evidence. The skeleton stares at you again and you feel some kind of loathsome satisfaction radiate off of his poise. You don’t give them the satisfaction of stammering. You let the gears in your head turn.

_Poof, I made the monsters go away..._

“...What was the white substance on the notebook, the skirt?” You say, your voice flat. But something in you has understood...without understand just what it is. Something is creeping up on you.

“...Monster dusts. It’s what we become when we die.”

_Remains?_

You don’t notice how the octaves and pace of his voice have changed. How even though you repeat the lines in your mind, somehow it’s like there’s no real voice attached to them. Just words, silent and bold. Remains. You think of ashes, cremated bodies, and think of them coating a child’s skirt, an old ribbon.

The kid was walking around covered in -

“So you just...burst into dust?” You say. “...And all it takes is a kid what, kicking you in the shin?”

You’re believing this is real. Good God Almighty, this is all _real._

“hey bud, you don’t look so good.”

The painfully blue bedroom is back. And that blasted skeleton is still standing in the hallway. You slam your hand onto the desk beside you. It isn’t painfully; but the wood strums under your gloves. You feel the impact jar in your arm. It’s real. You wouldn’t pick all of this up on drugs.

“wasn’t a kick to the shin, though. More of a knife to...various parts of the body.”

Rusty knife found on the scene, you wrote it in your notes. Hadn’t the lab boys said the stuff was _organic matter?_

Yeesh, kid. “Still self defence,” You say, placing your hands behind your back. This kook needs to get out of your way, but how do you make him? “You being a bunch of magical pixies and fairies doesn’t change the fact that oh, murdering six children is wrong.”

“never said it was.”

“But you did it anyway.”

The skeleton’s head tilts, then. “so every monster down here deserves to be on a crazy kid’s hit-list?”

“Well,” You ask, knowing this isn’t going to get an answer, “Who exactly killed the other kids, then? Enlighten me.” _And maybe I won’t bring hell and high water down on you all when I get back to the station._

Silence.

“...That would be Asgore.”

It’s Goat-Woman, and her granny-in-the-woods act is gone.

...

Giant white goat monsters have more of an effect on you than short, comically proportioned skeletons. You both find yourselves back in the living room, in respective chairs, holding teacups. You don’t drink it. You don’t even pretend you’re going to.

The goat-woman sits in the large armchair by the now ember-only fire, her spectacles glinting, and her face hard and devoid of all emotion besides a kind of...bitterness.

And boy, has she told you a few things.

“I suppose you are wondering why I tried to stop the human child from leaving.” She says. You stare back, undeterred by her lack of blinks. Your grip, however, tightens on the cup. She knew what she was doing then, not just some wacko. But you would see. You’d met varying degrees of good and bad liars over the years.

“It is because there is a barrier keeping us from the surface.” She delivers it to you flatly. “And I am afraid that while you can enter, you cannot leave. I’d hoped that after the last child escaped, no others would come.”

_What._

Her brows twitch upward ever-so-slightly. “But I underestimated your want for justice. I do not blame you.”

_What._

“Barrier?” You echo. “...I take it it’s not some giant brick wall.” You can’t hold it off, the primitive panic in your veins. Your mind had gone blank. Focus. Focus. There’s a way out of this.

“The kid got out.” You retort, and perhaps you’d have been more polite to her if you were a more lovey-dovey guy. “How’d you account for that?”

“pfft, it you listened to the teacher you’d know how to do the math.” The skeleton chimes in and you resist the urge to kick the short-fry.

“That takes us back to Asgore.”

Asgore. The ‘King’ apparently. King of whatever the hell they are, the guy who said every human had to die. You get the feeling that there’s more pretty little details to come. You allow her to continue, ignoring the skeleton. She told you his name but you deliberately ignored it.

She places her own cup down. “...He is dead. In order to leave, a human soul and a that of a Boss Monster – such as myself and Asgore – is required. The Child managed to defeat Asgore and escape.”

She doesn’t sound too remorseful but at the same time, she is neither gleeful nor pleased. A dim satisfaction burns within you. Darn, kid, you have some moves. You should be the one saving our butts down here, not the other way around.

 _Our_ butts...

Act natural. “So, I’m the only human you’ve seen since?”

Watch their faces. Ah ha, you see in, the faintest change within their eyes; the urge to glance away creating a tiny little glint of movement. You pretend to take a sip of your drink, changing your mind. You need to do something to appear casual.

Goat Monster – Toriel, apparently – places her large paws on her lap. Her teacup sits on the armrest, completely balanced. “I am afraid not, My Friend. I would have stopped them, had they given me the chance.”

“What were they, a track runner?” The skeleton asks, plainly. You retort with a passive glance.

He did not mention this. At all. He gave no indication that he’d seen your colleague. But the little slimeball DID say he'd seen other humans, just didn't care to... “Did I just miss them?”

You stand up slowly. Toriel’s look turns stern again, “I must insist that you listen. They have passed through here, but they did not know the danger. Tensions are high. For all we know...”

“They could be dead already?” You say outright. Perhaps, again, if you’d been a nicer guy, you’d feel guilty for making her face fall like it does. Your words have hurt her.

“hey, bud. she’s the only one who’s tried to save you, that other one, and those kids.”

Ice in your veins. You feel as though you’ve been struck though it doesn’t show. Say this is all true, that there’s really nowhere out. This...lady keeps the kids in because everyone else wants to murder them. Your previous judgements and conceptions about her are irrelevant now, and you feel the stigma thawing like ice under the heater.

But part of you remains firm and doesn’t let you apologise. You are too prideful.

“I’m no greenie, or a little kid.” The skeleton doesn’t look convinced. “Neither are they. Thank you for the...tea.” You have no idea what kind it is because you didn’t drink it, and you’d rather leave before hoody-spook chews you out for being impolite again.

“Thank you for the information. I’ll be sure to keep it in mind.”

Basement. Logical reasoning that they way out’s through there.

As you turn you see Toriel give off a small, solemn and resigning smile that holds neither joy nor hope. “If you told me many years ago that I would stop trying to warn humans away from danger, I would not believe you. How things have changed.”

Don’t turn around. Maybe you should, perhaps it would be decent, to thank her. It’s the least you can do. Or you could walk out and let her dwell in that sullen way, accepting that she has failed.

“One got away, lady. I guess that’s down to you.”

And the latter choice is the one you take before striding out. Down the stairs, to where sound itself cuts off.

This hallway stretches out. Okay, corner, you’d better not have something –

_“Gah –“_

How the hell did he –

“one more thing.” Says the skeleton, hands now placed behind his back. You realise you’ve unconsciously done the same. “don’t go around ‘kicking people in the shin’. It’ll end badly for you.”

 “I’ll put on my oven mitts.”

Asking ‘what if they try to kill me’ sounds redundant.

You blink and the skeleton is gone. A cold breeze wafts towards you; a pale open doorway lies ahead. You focus on your mission – investigate and regroup with your colleague.

If that idiot is _alive._


	9. In This Hellish World...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Sergeant and Police Dog find that three is now two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait. Something came up and I had to delay.  
> Each chapter deals with a different timeline.  
> Each of the three character takes on the aftermath of a different neutral route.

The repetition somehow quells your reaction this time. And allows to you to be angry. A crazy, incredulous rage overcomes you as you lay face-down in the rotting flowerbed. Police Dog is whining loudly somewhere nearby, distress clear in its tone – for a creature bred and trained all its life to be made of steel, the noise is especially disconcerting. Judging by the burning in your chest, you’d been impaled through the ribcage. Cleanly.

Obviously a skeleton would have anatomical efficiency.

Stumbling upright, you find yourself feeling strained, like you’re coming down from a sugar high. Like you’ve had a nap that wasn’t satisfying; an energy drink that’s shocked you awake but let you feeling slightly ill. Whatever the reason this...reset has left you feeling wrong.

Right. Right. You have to find another way around that freak.

Police Dog isn’t spared the discomfort by rage. He wanders in a circle, watching you expectantly, as if waiting for a command. Perhaps he feels routine well help.

This place is colossal with all these passageways. You can – find another route, surely.

You lead Police Dog through the only entrance for now, and keep your eyes peeled for other openings. When you come to the rank river, you wonder if you can risk wading along it...

Crouching down, you decide it isn’t a good idea.

Police Dog is already on the other side of the bridge anyway.

_Rustle._

You’ve turned around in a fluid sweep, flashlight pointed in the direction of the noise...

...but nothing came.

A vacant breeze drifts alongside you. “...Who’s there?”

No answer. You get the incentive to move on, then. Police Dog is all too happy to follow. But then, when you’re at the halfway point from last time, he tugs you in a different direction. Flashlight already getting dim (or the darkness getting – thicker somehow) you let him lead the way.

...the light drifts over a...bowl?

The soil crackles underfoot as you approach. A very large, old-fashioned bowl lying beside some kind of podium. You stoop down.

There’s something scattered about. Small, round and colourful –

Wrapped up candies. The sweet and sour kind, lemon and apple and so on. The kind you suck on when you’re feeling sick in the car. Stereotypical, Halloween stuff.

And you’ve never been more creeped out to see it.

There’s empty wrappers. Jesus. Plucking one up, you hold it out for Police Dog to sniff. He bobs his nose close by, while frame going still as he processes it. Then his lips draw back in the faintest snarl.

...There’s something off about this candy. If it was drugged, Police Dog would be going spare, but not. There’s just something...unusual. You sniff it yourself. It smells like candy and yet there’s something more potent...

You pick up an actual sweet this time. You’re shocked to find that it’s light, very light, despite being the size of a gobstopper. It’s like you’re holding nothing at all.

Okay, that’s not right.

Suddenly your flashlight begins to blink. You’ve spent too much time loitering – it’s going...

Out. Police Dog patters around somewhere to your left, and begins tugging on the leash. He’s picked up something, and you have no other option but to let him lead the way.

And hope if that freaky skeletons comes back that you’ll get a third life in this horrid game. For a long while, all you hear are the soft pants of the dog, his feet, and your own. The octaves in which your footsteps change are your only indicator of space.

You’ve gone down a few steps and almost broken your neck. Things keep stirring in the dark, and the hairs on the back of your neck tell you that you may no longer be alone.

Until you are. Suddenly you find yourself in a new corridor, and by god there’s _light_ in it. Some kind of shaft in the ceiling here, and a pale white light cut sharp by the square opening cascades from above.

For some reason your eyes need no time to adjust. Police Dog speeds up, head bent as he scuttles towards his target.

Something lies draped across the light; half of it still encased in darkness. Your brain flitters over the image. Wait.

Police Dog raises his head and whines, soft and solemn. It’s a quiet noise that drifts out to you.

You see the hand first. Fingers curled as if holding something, nails chipped and laced with dirt. Then the arm, a black jacket-covered limb sprawled against the purple floor.

Petals are falling from the walkway above.

Your colleague’s body lies on its side. Their hair sprinkles their face. They look like they are asleep; their eyelids are heavy. Their brow is furrowed, as if in discomfort. But you know they do not feel this, they aren’t dreaming of work overflow, or of a dead end case.

They’re dead.

_Oh God, Oh God, Oh God._

It falls on you in an instant that feels like an eternity, reality shifts around you and your insides sink.

...you can’t believe it.

One knee, then two. You’ve fallen a few yards away and find yourself almost crawling to their side. At first you can’t touch them, this can’t be real, and this isn’t real. Then you grip their jacket, the cold slides up your hands, and you know.

There’s no pulse. Skin ice cold and clammy.

You really believed you’d find them. Even though logic detailed that you really ought to expect a grisly outcome.

You remember small snatches. Them in the hallway, in the coffee room, a usually bashful smile that made them seem like a different person in comparison to the times that they were down. When a case went sour and their face blazed with cold fury that could pierce the mountains.

But not keep them alive.

Worst part is, they didn’t come here because it was their job. They came for the victims, and part of you feels selfish.

There’s no tears. They lay on your lap, limp and empty, and you stare ahead and grip their jacket and wonder how they died.

And the petals keep falling. Deep within your memory, your expertise tells you that logically, they’ve probably been dead for days.

So even if you go back, you won’t be able to save them.

It hits you then. “Oh God...”

They’re dead. You were too late.

You’ve failed.                                                                                                                       

Fingers grip your face, jaw sore, nose and eyes wet as the horror and unfairness of it strikes you. They’d found the kid. They’d been so overjoyed that for once there was a happy ending, some hope. And this is where it got them.

Police Dog watches you, head just slightly bent. He has no concept of this, obviously. But maybe it helps. Maybe.

You bow your head and let the anguish wave over you in waves, until it seals away in your heart. Your body loosens as you lock it from you; distance it away like you always do.

But, again as always when someone dies in this profession, something in you gets heavier.

“...oh...”

The gun is out of your jacket pocket and you haven’t even turned your head. It came from directly in front of you. Somewhere the light can’t reach. Police Dog didn’t pick it up before you did, how -?

Your thoughts are scrambled egg, you can’t concentrate.

“...they didn’t move...i thought...they’d come back. like the last one. but...”

“...Did they fall?” You rasp. “Why didn’t you call someone?”

No one would have been able to come. “...i think...they were already gone when...”

Cold, cold horror flows through your veins. In your head you hear a loud, crunching thud, picture the body falling through the shaft –

Think of something else, you’re meant to be a Police Sergeant. You’re pathetic.

You haven’t been this jittery, this in-pieces for years. It’s this _place._

“Who are you?” You ask. Your hands move in routine. You straighten the body onto its back. It, not they. Your colleague is gone, they’ve been gone for days.

You fold its hands over its chest, and drape their own winter scarf over their face. Police Dog sniffs at them quietly, but remains unbearable quiet.

The little thing, whatever it was that was speaking to you, is gone.

_CLANK, CLANK, CLANK._

_The sound of footsteps approaches._

You have but a split second to act.

Leave the body, and save yourself. Try to stay with the body and face whatever’s coming, and risk being sent back again. You can’t do this a second time. You can’t carry the body. But this is a dead end...

It’s dark in here.

A horrible idea comes to you.

...

The concentre smells like stale salt.

 _Clank, clank, clank._ Around the corner, and whatever it is stops. You sense its presence hovering in the air. Slowly, it approaches. Metal. It must be something big. You daren’t move.

It stops right in front of you.

“The SOUL is already on its way to Alphys, Empress Undyne.” An odd, raspy voice says. You pray, pray with all your being, that Police Dog keeps its mouth closed.

Police Dog is in the dark, in a corner, while you lie in the place the body was moments before. Meters away from you your colleague lies tucked under your jacket and jumper, hidden in the darkness completely. You’re playing dead and every second feels like an eternity.

Something prods you and you stay still, still, still –

 _“Urgh_. I would have liked to have done it myself.” A feminine voice, damp and rough, nearly startles you. Violent. Is this the one who...?

“We’re not gonna wait as long as Asgore did. There has to be _another_ solution hidden in these souls.”

“Maybe a bigger human will have bigger soul power?” Whatever lackey she has with her says.

A creak of metal tells you that she’s turned around. “Get it out of here. The former Queen might be sniffing around here and I don’t want her making this _sappy_.”

_Clank, clank, clank..._

Whatever she was talking to is still there. You feel something snag onto your thin police uniform and pull.

A loud bark makes them drop you.

You utter every curse word you know in your head, darn it, darn it, not again...

“Where you guarding it?” The creature asks. You smell something...like...dog breath? Not your Police Dog, who’s dental hygiene is sound.

Police Dog barks in return.

...Does it...?

“Oh, I’ll let you do it, then.” The creature says, quite plainly. As if dragging a body is no matter at all. “Thanks. I’m supposed to be on break...”

Pad, pad, pad. Like two dog feet instead of four, whatever’s been pulling at you is gone. Its only then that your hands begin to tremble, and you turn your head.

Holy.

Police Dog stares right into your face, eyes reflecting the dim light. You rolled over onto your back after giving him a well-needed pet.

The trap door looms above.

...So she didn’t kill them. Did they just...fall? You’ll need to ch-check the wounds. The fact that you had to drag your colleague’s body and stuff it at the sides makes you feel ill.

You attend to them silently, making sure their arms are folded over their chest again, and you your jackets over them again. You aren’t going to put them back on.

 _I’ll come back for your body,_ you think. You try to promise.

 ...What about the Detective?

Police Dog, head low and curious, trots a little ways down the hall. With a resigned sigh, you follow.

Don’t look back. It won’t help them now.

...

It looks like...renovations have happened here. The water here is still disgusting, but it’s flowing wildly past the bridge. It seems a kind of scaffolding, made of metal and wire, has been put up. It clashes with everything else that’s stone and plant.

Those...things have been here recently. You’re getting closer.

_Ziiiiiip._

You fling yourself out of the way. Something crashes against your leg and you feel your bones buzz with it. Police Dog leaps over the railing after you.

The water drags you off and away from the bridge. As you go you twist your head back to look – and see the familiar blue eye blinking at you, growing smaller as you flow away. 

The light fades and you plunge into darkness.


	10. Undeserved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aren't you getting tired of this?
> 
> (The Lieutenant's patience and good humor is running out.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I apologise.  
>  I just couldn't finish this chapter. Things have been going on, but I'm SLOWLY getting back into writing. Hopefully.

_Patience, Kindness, Justice, Integrity, Bravery, Perseverance, Determination. Things that make up the WILL._

_The WILL in children is simple. Emotions in children are simple. So only one is dominant._

_Colors are simple. Add them all together, you neutralise them._

_ONLY MAGIC HUMANS CAN REGAIN THE UNIQUE CORE COLOR OF THEIR SOUL._

_..._

There’s something artificial about the breeze down here, though the trees and snow are somehow real without any sun or substitute for that. You don’t mention the camera to the skeleton; yet you wonder if he knows it’s there. You pass a bridge and find a deep drop – how far down do these mountain tunnels go?

Ever since finding that camera, you feel like you’re being watched. This is expected, only with the landscape growing more open and less trees looming, you wonder where such tech would hide. The white landscape begins to make your eyes blur over.

The skeleton – The ‘Great Papyrus’ keeps insisting that there are other ‘monsters’ and yet you find no one else aside from yourselves in this seemingly vast place...

You come across a microwave sitting on an end table, idling on the side of the road.

“THE LAST HUMAN WAS KIND ENOUGH TO LEAVE THAT SPAGETTI FOR ME.”

Despite spaghetti being a questionable article of one of the kid’s disappearances, you feel your stomach turn in hunger. But there’s nothing but a plate sitting there. All but frozen sauce remains, hard as concrete and latched onto the plate. You have a feeling it was hard and texture-less even before it was frozen.

Even with your winter clothes packed on in layers, it’s still colder than death down here. How had the kid managed to get around through all this without so much as a jacket? Your hands feel like they’ve been used as a pin cushion...

Footsteps dance along the road as the skeleton leads on. Still no one. But you’re pretty sure no human has three toes. Some kind of...bird?

“AH, HERE WE ARE!”

You lift your head, one insane part of expecting the Monster Queen herself to be standing in the snow – but instead you see...hold on, are those _houses?_

Coupled with trees, snowy grounds, and an honest lake-wide river, the addition of houses makes you feel like the world has flipped and you’re back above ground. It’s enough to make you stop.

The town runs along one side of the road. And you see figures. Lots of figures. Cheery, soft music is playing. You can see a _Christmas Tree._

The soft glow of the town draws you in and you hear what appears to be voices. If they were nipped and pinched here and there by some audio distorter. They’re odd octaves and cadences that make your teeth hurt.

Papyrus struts in and several voices rise in greeting. You’re pretty sure one of them is some kind of rabbit.

Then you step into the threshold, and see them all up close. It’s too quick. You have no time to process them all.

It helps that it’s quiet now. They’ve all gone silent. The jingling music playing from nowhere in particular halts as well.

Some of them looked befuddled. Others seem unsurprised, and that gets to you more. There’s something dog-like standing nearby with comically puffed out cheeks. “What’s that moving over there?!”

“It’s a human.” Someone says, as if they can’t quite believe it.

...Is this a bad thing? They’re dressed like...people. Citizens. They look harmless, even cuddly, something out of a children’s cartoon. Can you bring yourself to secretly accuse them of murdering children? Aiding in it? Letting it happen? There’s so many, a whole town, some may not even know – the variables are piling up.

So you say nothing. You feel as though it’ll open an even bigger can of worms. This changes everything. It’s a whole community. A naive, foolish, cuddly looking bunch.

_Something’s not right here._

Papyrus turns to face you, looking expectant and slightly peeved by the attention on you, “YES, GENTLEFOLK, IT IS A HUMAN, JUST AS THE QUEEN PREDICTED! WHY ARE SO SURPRISED?”

“That’s not a h-h-human!” A strange...mass says after a moment, and you spend the next few minutes telling yourself not to stare.

“Yeah, aren’t humans smaller?”

“With bigger eyes?”

“They got lines on their face!”

Okay, you had to draw the line somewhere. You look expectantly at Papyrus, hoping he’ll get the message to –

Papyrus’ miffed look disappears from your mind when a door opens to your left. Warm light pours over you. Despite this situation, your frozen hands call to it; your heart pulls to it. Crispy smells drift out to your senses and tug.

You ask whether you can stop a moment. You’ve walked a long way. You say it amiably. Part of you is being honest; to warm up before you’re chilled to the, heh, bone. But also to buy yourself some time. Maybe...’talk’ with the locals.

Papyrus’s eyes flicker with righteous fury that makes you feel tired. “THAT ESTABLISHMENT HAS GREASE LACING THE AIR, HUMAN! YOU MAY UP WITH EVEN MORE CREASES IN YOUR FACE!”

Excuse you.

You say humans love grease. It’s like how milk is to skeletons.

And _eyeballs_ appear in his head for the extent purpose of popping. You’re not even surprised anymore, and you speed-walk into the place before he can stop you.

The heat of the interior makes your eyes water.

You faintly recalled a painting in popular culture of dogs playing poker. Well. They aren’t using any brightly-coloured checkers, but there’s cards scattered around the table.

The place smells of charcoal, cooking meat and crispy buns.

And the bar man’s positively on fire. You feel dream-like as you stride in, and you wonder if your mind is just more resilient than you gave it credit for.

Excuse me, polite as always to the...gaggle of dogs, could you tell me about the other humans that came down here?

Perhaps if you act like everything is fine, like they are, it’ll yield bountiful results.

“The last one wasn’t too long ago!” One says, and it’s like he can’t face his head in any other direction; peering at you huffily with one squinted eye. “Before that, I didn’t see anything.”

“One cooked a lot!” Another says, in a feminine voice. “They had strange hair. I thought they were a cat at first.”

You have no idea how this talking hound came to that conclusion, and though you mull over it, nothing of note can be found in that statement. You hear them recite things you already know; time frames going from ‘long ago’ and ‘not as long ago’. So, stuff you’re already familiar with.

You approach the bar.

And that’s when you notice that one of the dogs, the largest in fact, has its head leant on the table. Another...being, the lumpy one, seems to catch onto your thinking.

“H-h-he’s not been right since Asgore ... went away.”

Asgore?

“The-K-King.”

And you feel the atmosphere change.

You decide to keep asking.

What is the Barrier, you enquire.

“A w-wall. Magic wall. Made by humans, to k- keep us down here.” There was a resignation it its voice. Depressing.

Why did the humans make it?

“Th-they started a war.”

A war?

You were going to inquire further when the door slammed open. You could tell by the sound of crunching wood that it was not the wind, nor could it be Papyrus – like he said, there was grease lining the air.

There’s a fish-person staring at you. If you’d been ill of sight, you’d call it ‘human’ in shape. Two legs, two arms, standing upright –

Bright yellow eye and _teeth._

Slightly shorter than you, and staring as if YOU’RE the one with three heads. There’s a spark of disdain in there but it seems squashed down; the same kind you’ve seen in people who’ve looked at someone they dislike, really dislike, but have dragged that sentiment back and leashed it.

“...Oh.” The single utterance sounds far too loud to be an indoor voice. “He wasn’t kidding. You ARE tall.”

...Who’re you?”

“Undyne. Former Captain of the Royal Guard.”

Then her eye narrows, and so far she’s one of the first to be suspicious of you. “And you?”

You give your name. And say your rank. Her face scrunches up. “Wait. I’ve heard of those. Some kind of _authority?”_

Whoops.

**_You should really be taking this more seriously._ **

It occurs to you that her appearance is timely. She doesn’t look surprised to see you. She saw you on that nice little camera, didn’t she. She knows why you’re here.

I’m guessing you’re going take me to see this ‘Queen’.

“Yeah.” Her remaining eye is just a yellow slit, and the patrons have gone eerily silent. “That’s the rules nowadays, buster. We take every human as they come. Individual cases.”

So you didn’t before, you say, and her lips twist. You can’t figure out whether it’s a snide grin or a sneer.

You idly wonder if running is an option.

“You’d better follow me, then.” She says, probably trying to keep her voice neutral. “But I’m watching you, Punk.”

You follow her out. The cold greets you with malice; a harsh wind is blowing. Though how you can’t imagine. Papyrus is waiting, eyes glittering in the glow cast by the Christmas-lights.

“ARE WE ALL FRIENDS? NO MURDERY BEHAVOUR I HOPE?”

You assure Papyrus that everybody is going to behave and be bosom buddies. Undyne is looking at you in a peculiar way.

...You know for certain that she’s decided that she doesn’t like you at all.

...

They lead you to somewhere even more baffling. Like the snowy domain, it almost fools you into thinking you’re standing beneath the night sky. Mushrooms and stones glitter near and far. The water reflects the light.

You’re clad for the lack of cold.

“So. There’s different kinds of humans, right?” The fish-woman asks suddenly, and you contemplate her meaning for a moment. Yes, there’s different kinds.

“What about the princesses who wield the giant swords?”

It takes you a moment to process her interrogation-like tone. Seems she uses it for casual discussion too. You give a baffled laugh. There’s not been any _sword wielding_ for a long time, you say.

“Hmph! That kid said there was!” The fish is looking at you in an accessory way and you can’t believe _this is the conversation you’re having._

You stop, and shake your head.

You must be getting tired of this, right? They’re all acting humorous and sweet as sugar. The fish is a bit abrasive, but still. They’re making you forget why you’re down here. Why wait for the Queen to tell you? They say they no longer feel murder-y.

But you don’t know that. Maybe you’re being played for a fool.

“HUMAN, IT IS NOT TIME TO REST. BUT IF YOU WISH TO PAUSE FOR A MOMENT...” Papyrus is looking concerned.

You ask if they understand. If they understand what they have done. You are tall, you say, because you are an adult.

You have lines in your face, because the truth is, you are getting old. Your hair is going grey because of that, too.

The other humans didn’t, because they were children.

Why are they dead, you ask.

And you lift your head, and see Papyrus’s face, how his grinning jaw is slightly open and his brows crease his skull somehow, so that he looks shattered.

Undyne’s expression has frozen, her eye wide.

And behind them both, you see something tilt its head. Your mind pulls the image together. White, black holes, little white dots gleaming in the dark.

Who’s that?

Papyrus looks. “WHOM DO YOU SPEAK OF, HUMAN?”

You can't see it anymore.


End file.
